Call It What You Will
by polywolly
Summary: Snape has settled awkwardly into a new life, and a new profession. When a healer asks him to assist her in a hopeless case, Snape is attracted to the challenge, not to mention the woman doing the asking. Post book 6 HGSS COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Snape walked quickly down the cobbled street, searching for the man that he was supposed to meet with that night. As always, the buyer was late, and Snape was left standing alone on the side street, staring blankly out onto the shimmering waters of Lake Pontchartrain. Snape pulled his cloak more fully around him. The nights could get cold in Mandeville in the fall. He often wondered if he had made the proper decision in moving there. The city was much more temperate than Scotland, but it was cold in its own way, though the city was less to blame than Snape's own frame of mind.

Louisiana was incredibly far away from London. Mandeville, the city where Snape lived, was north of New Orleans, connected by a bridge over Lake Pontchartrain. It had one of the largest wizarding communities in the world. If Snape were to survive, he had to work. To work, he had to live near other wizards. Living near other wizards was a problem for which Mandeville provided a solution. No one knew who he was there. To help him with the transition, he cut his hair short, the most difficult decision of them all. He was wishing he still had it as the chilly October breeze prickled the hairs on the back of his neck.

Only two months had passed since Snape had finished transferring his things to the large apartment on Lakeshore Drive. The apartment had taken his fancy immediately. The loft style of the floor plan possessed few walls. The ceiling rose high to exposed ductwork, filling him with a sense of great openness and freedom. That was a plus, considering that it had not been long since his release from prison.

Three months ago, the Ministry of Magic handed down his pardon. The six months before that Snape spent in Azkaban, wondering if everyone had forgotten about him yet.

Dumbledore would not have forgotten him, Snape had thought while sitting on the cot in his cell. Of course, since he had killed Dumbledore, he wasn't likely to come to Snape's aid. A wave of bitter cold trickled through Snape's gut at the thought. His life had been in turmoil since that fateful night on the North Tower.

Before that night, Snape and Dumbledore had argued about the Vow, Dumbledore saying that Snape was to do what was necessary to stay within Voldemort's good graces. They had worked out a plan, but the Death Eaters laid that all to waste the night that they attacked the castle. Unprepared, Snape did the only thing that he could. He killed Dumbledore, who had saved his life so many years before. Snape could feel his own self-respect falling with the old man as he plummeted feebly to the ground below.

"Ahem," Snape heard a voice behind him. His appointment had arrived at last. The dark-complected young man was hovering just inside the shadows off the pier. "Do you have it?" he hissed at Snape.

"Of course," Snape answered as he turned and walked toward the voice. The man before him reeked of stale gin, as well as the foulness of habitually forgotten showers. "You have the money?" asked Snape.

"Yeah," the filthy man said as he flashed a bag of gold, and proceeded to put out his hands like a child at Christmas. "Hand it over," he instructed Snape.

Snape drew the plain steel flask from his pocket and held it out to the pathetic man. Squealing with glee, the chap seized it hungrily. At once, he twisted off the cap and put it to his lips, moaning as he drank the viscous liquid.

"Does it pass inspection?" Snape asked impatiently.

Flinching as though he had forgotten Snape were there, the man recapped the flask, and slipped it into an inner pocket of his cloak. Retrieving the bag of gold, he dropped it into Snape's proffered hand.

"The same price as Anderson's, right?" the man asked.

"One hundred galleons," Snape answered.

"It's all there, then." The man's eyes were dancing dangerously now. "You can count it if you want. I'm sick, but I'm not a crook."

Snape slipped the bag into his pocket just before he said, "Good evening." Turning back toward the main thoroughfare, he strode purposefully toward the street.

From behind him, he heard the man holler, "Where can I find you next time?"

Snape waved a hand in the air and kept walking. He wasn't interested in servicing the whole of Mandeville with their tonic of choice. All he was concerned with was paying his rent. If he kept using Obliviate on the superintendent, the man wouldn't be able to remember his own name.

As Snape stepped briskly down the deserted sidewalk, his thoughts returned to Dumbledore. He certainly missed the man. Snape chuckled ironically when he thought of how much easier it had been to be alone when people had surrounded him. Now, his isolation was complete. Nowadays, he would give anything for a conversation with someone who wasn't in need of a fix.

He turned the corner onto Lakeshore Drive. People were teeming in the road, waiting for the start of some show at one of the nightclubs. Many of them were dressed in a gothic style. At least his heavy, black cloak would likely go unnoticed.

Climbing the stairs to his apartment, he passed the superintendent. The pudgy man glared at Snape ominously. He was late with the rent, but he couldn't pay the man until he had exchanged the Galleons he had just earned.

Upon entering his flat, Snape threw his cloak across the back of the couch, and crossed the room to the small refrigerator. It had come with the apartment, so he made use of it. After pouring a glass of ice-cold bourbon, a predilection of his, he put it on the little kitchen table and sat in front of it.

Staring at the tawny liquid, Snape wondered why he had to drink. He didn't want to drink alone anymore. Dumbledore used to join Snape in his rooms at Hogwarts. They would sit in front of the roaring fire, sipping fine mulled mead, discussing the war or the school, the topic was unimportant. Snape missed the camaraderie.

A fireplace was something that Snape wished he still had. His apartment didn't have one. Instead, radiators warmed the giant room with its humid, musty heat. How Snape wished he could change the last few years of his life, or the last twenty.

Snape spent the entire year following Dumbledore's death trying not to die. Caught unawares, Dumbledore had not yet managed to relay their plan to anyone, or the details of the Vow that Snape had taken out of necessity. The Order, the Ministry, and Harry Potter were out for revenge. They all looked upon him as a traitor, and a coward. Neither of which were true, but nothing would change their minds. They wanted to see Snape caught, and more than likely, put to death.

That whole year was wasted, Snape could do nothing for the Order, but he did manage to pass anonymous messages to them from time to time. He was sure that he had saved a few lives with his diligence. Another year passed before Potter had destroyed all the Horcruxes, with the help of several of Snape's messages, making it possible for Harry to seek out Voldemort. The time of reckoning had arrived, and Snape was eager for it. After Harry defeated the Dark Lord, Snape could reveal himself and clear his name, or at least he hoped that would be the end of it.

In July, a little more than a year ago, Snape had accompanied the Death Eaters to a staged attack on Hogsmeade, which also happened to be the day that the Order chose to strike. The time had come for Snape to expose his true allegiance, and he did, turning his wand on the other Death Eaters immediately. That move backfired hideously. Now, he was not only dodging curses from the Death Eaters, but from the Order as well. Fighting doggedly, Snape held off a handful of Death Eaters at once while Potter fought Voldemort. No matter how difficult it was for Snape to admit, Potter had fought bravely, finally winning the battle. Voldemort was dead, but before he died, he had managed to wound the boy badly.

During the fight, one of Snape's spells had saved Lupin, and one appeared to have rescued the Granger girl. Snape was not expecting praise, but he hadn't expected hatred either, when the Order turned their wands on him. They thought that he had turned coat to save himself. That was partially true, but it wasn't true in the way that they chose to perceive it. They thought Snape was evil, merely turning at the last moment, instead of the truth. The truth was that Snape had spent the last two years mourning Dumbledore's death, just as they had, except that Snape had to feel the guilt for having been the one to send the curse that killed the man.

Realizing that his last chance at redemption seemed lost, Snape Apparated before they could detain him. He managed to elude the Aurors and the Order for almost six months before his capture. Just before Christmas, they had found the hostel where Snape was staying, surrounding him in his sleep as if he were a hunted animal. The year passed into the new millennium, and Snape turned forty, while he was in jail.

The trial was swift. No one came forward to speak on Snape's behalf. Moreover, Potter had witnessed the murder. As Potter sat on the stand, he leered at Snape, who knew that he deserved it. He only wished that the boy could understand why he had to kill the wise old man. During his testimony, Potter had to take multiple breaks. The fight with Voldemort had wounded him permanently. He couldn't stand for very long and became short of breath easily. Snape actually felt sorry for the boy.

When the guards came to collect Snape upon his conviction, it wasn't the worst day of his life, but it was certainly close. Dumbledore would have fixed this, Snape thought, as they led him out of the room in shackles, to the hoots and hollers of the crowd.

Six more months passed in jail. Thankfully, the Dementors were gone, but the guards were merciless. They barely allowed him to sleep, prodding him with silly spells from across the room. More than once, he thought of killing himself, if for nothing more than hastening the process. He was set to die, following a one-year imprisonment. That year was to allow time for any evidence to surface that might vindicate him. As much as he may have welcomed the unconsciousness it would have induced, Snape wasn't holding his breath.

When half of his sentence was complete, Snape received word that an appeal was before the Wizengamot concerning his case. They had reviewed the new material, setting a date to hear fresh evidence--evidence Snape had not even heard himself. He was at a lose, considering he had run out of money months before, leaving him without legal counsel, or the means even to continue fighting his case. Apparently, to Snape's bewilderment, someone had stepped in on his behalf.

The following morning, a man in fine, navy robes came to visit Snape at the prison. Through the hazy, magical partition, the man told him that he was Elijah Hargrove, and that he was Snape's new lawyer. Astounded, Snape asked the man who was sponsoring him, but Mr. Hargrove refused to give a name, saying only that the person had uncovered evidence of Snape's innocence, and had directly contacted Mr. Hargrove to proceed with an appeal.

The new evidence was a letter, written by Dumbledore only days before his death, exonerating Snape of any wrongdoing, should Dumbledore meet an untimely end at Snape's hand. It substantiated Snape's story in full.

That very afternoon, Snape was in court, listening to Mr. Hargrove explain the details of the discovery. He said that he had received the evidence, along with authentication, but the person who uncovered the letter wished to remain nameless.

The court heard the evidence, examined the letter, and deliberated for an agonizing hour before handing down a verdict of not guilty. In that instant, Snape was a free man, no longer condemned to die. Upon his acquittal, Mr. Hargrove handed Snape a sack of gold, saying that it was a gift from the anonymous benefactor. Overwhelmed with relief, Snape hadn't yet considered how difficult starting over was going to be.

Returning to Hogwarts was out of the question. Snape couldn't return to the memories of the friend he had killed, nor would he have been welcomed back. He spent a few weeks moving between hotels. Many people still believed in his guilt, making it increasingly difficult just to leave his room.

When it had all become too much, Snape made the decision to move to the United States, where he could have a new life, a better life. He tried to find work in Mandeville and New Orleans, even the smaller surrounding cities, but nothing suitable was available. There were already plenty of legitimate potion masters in the area. Subsequently, he began brewing elicit concoctions to sell. He became a victim of circumstance, reduced to peddling "medicine to the ill" as they called it in the pubs. Snape didn't consider the addicted ill. He thought them weak. Nevertheless, without their addictions, he would have been unable to live in the city. He rationalized the best that he could. As soon as he found other work, he would stop selling, which was bound to be soon, he hoped.

Picking up the glass of bourbon, Snape downed it quickly, cursing his own weakness as it burned a path down to his stomach. The liquor no longer warmed him. It merely emphasized how cold he had become.

Setting down the empty glass, he let his head drop to the tabletop. When was it that he had become so pathetic, he wondered? Why did everything have to go to such hell? Snape sat up swiftly, seizing the glass and hurling it at the wall. It gave a satisfying crunch and tinkled to the concrete floor. Too soon, the noise was gone, and his thoughts inundated him again.

He sighed deeply, repaired the glass, and retrieved his cloak from the couch. If his thoughts wished to persist, he would silence them somehow, but not alone this time.

As he emerged back out onto the street, he heard the clamor of the band from the club. Snape wondered how people could consider that racket music. He turned onto a boulevard that would take him to a wizarding bar that he had visited a few times before. A good old-fashioned pub it was not, but it was always full of people. If he could surround himself with people from whom he longed to escape, then perhaps his solitude would be more fulfilling.

Snape was a block away from the bar when an inebriated man accosted him.

"What have you got on you?" the man mumbled.

"Nothing," Snape replied as he brushed past the man.

"Come on," the stranger cajoled. "A good business man is never empty handed."

"I said that I have nothing," Snape stated firmly. "Now, piss off."

The man lurched forward to confront Snape, "Oh, yes you are," but when the tip of Snape's wand pressed against the man's temple, he stopped speaking.

"I am selling nothing," Snape hissed. "I suggest you crawl back into whatever filth you were born from before I make crawling the least of your worries."

Wide eyed, and a bit sobered, the man backed away a few steps before breaking into a run that carried him out of sight.

Shaking his head, Snape crossed the street toward the pub. As soon as his feet hit the sidewalk, he was aware of someone walking closely behind him. When he reached the door, he paused, as did the footsteps. He turned quickly, but he saw only those loitering outside the door.

Unnerved by his paranoia, he decided not to enter the bar, and continued down the street. The footsteps behind him resumed. Picking up his pace, Snape turned left, passing between two buildings. His pursuer persisted, their footfalls echoing off the brick walls on either side.

Exiting the alley onto the next street over, Snape turned right, aware of a cul-de-sac that would allow him to dispatch his follower with the least number of witnesses. The footsteps were getting closer, close enough that he was going to have to act. As soon as he passed out of the glow of the street lamp, he swiftly spun around, grasping the person behind him with his hand over their mouth. Snape directed them easily into the nearest alleyway.

"What do you want with me?" he asked furiously as he turned the attacker around. In the darkness, it was impossible to make out their features. He put his wand to the person's throat before he removed his hand from their mouth.

"I didn't mean to startle you," a scared woman's voice answered. "I shouldn't have followed you."

Without removing his wand, Snape said, "I don't have anything. And don't follow people."

"I know Professor. I apologize," she said shakily.

The word professor stunned Snape. Lowering his wand he asked, "What did you just say?"

"I said that I apologize," she answered confidently. "I only wanted to see you."

"Why?" he asked.

"I should be the one wondering why," she with sarcasm, adding more sincerely, "Because I was worried about you. But you can obviously look after yourself."

Recovering from his shock, Snape became impatient. He strode forward, grasped the woman's arm, and pulled her out under the street light. Snape released her immediately upon seeing her face. The person he had just attacked was undeniably Hermione Granger.

Confounded, Snape asked, "What are you doing here?"

"To see how you're doing," Hermione answered slowly as she rubbed her arm. "And you're apparently not much friendlier than before."

Shocked by the situation, Snape asked, "What responsibility am I of yours?"

Hermione sighed, "You're not. I sent a couple of owls and both came back when they couldn't find you. I worried."

"I don't need your concern," Snape said coldly.

She laughed, "I gathered that. But I thought maybe you could use some money."

"Why would I need money?" asked Snape.

"Because I know you don't have much," she replied.

Caught off guard, Snape said, "I have never needed anyone's money."

Hermione laughed again. Her voice irritated, she said, "You would rather be in prison?"

Through his confusion, Snape asked, "What are you talking about?"

Looking exasperated, she explained, "_I_ found the letter. _I_ helped pay Elijah. Should I have let them kill you?"

Confused, and suddenly very tired, Snape said quietly, "Perhaps." When he saw her looking strangely at him, he added, "Thank you. There's your gratitude. Now go away, and make sure you tell everyone how brilliantly I'm doing."

>

Cursing herself for her inability to back down from a challenge, Hermione grabbed Snape's sleeve as he tuned to leave.

"Not so fast," she told him. "Have you found work?"

Snape maintained his stare down the dark street. Hermione was about to repeat the question when he answered softly, "Not yet."

Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Then how are you paying for your apartment?"

"How is that your business?" he asked irritably.

"It's not," she said as she let go of his cloak. "I just want to help."

"I don't want your help," he ground out.

Hermione watched him walk down the block and disappear into an alley. He didn't once look back.

Taking a few steps to the street bench, she collapsed onto it. What had made her think this would be easy, she wondered. Snape was a proud man, and he wouldn't be quick to beg for assistance. She also shouldn't have allowed herself to become annoyed with him. He hadn't asked her to drop by unannounced. It seemed only yesterday that she would never have considered offering him help. It would have been more likely that she would have struck him with a string of curses. That had all changed a few months before.

After seeing Harry injured, Hermione refocused her career on healing. She was still new to the profession, and was sometimes required to take paperwork to the Ministry for filing. On one such occasion, she was delivering a will. The woman working in the office was hectic. After the woman notarized the document, Hermione offered to file it for her.

Trudging through the stacks of disorganization, she found the seemingly endless room lined with filing cabinets rising clear to the ceiling. She found the appropriate drawer easily enough. Whether it was fate, or purely dumb luck, the will that she was filing belonged to a man named Dumbley. The file directly in front of his belonged to Albus Dumbledore.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she removed the file and started flipping through the papers, periodically checking over her shoulder so as not to be caught.

Hermione skimmed the first few papers, coming to one document dated three days before Dumbledore's death. It was a letter that gave a complete account of Snape's work with the Order, and of the agreement between Dumbledore and Snape. Aghast at the information, she gaped at the letter until the notary caught her, yelling about privacy issues and discretion.

Once Hermione explained the significance of the discovery, the woman calmed, and allowed her to make a copy of the letter. Hermione immediately went into action, contacting Professor McGonagall. They agreed that Snape needed help, and that he would be more than unwilling to accept it from them. Together, they collected a substantial amount of money, and contacted Hermione's friend Elijah Hargrove, who happened to be the best wizarding attorney in London. Though the evidence was solid, they wanted to ensure that the Wizengamot found no loophole through which to sustain Snape's imprisonment.

Hermione attended the hearing accompanied by Ron, but Snape never once turned to view the crowd. Many people had come, some hoping the conviction would stand. Harry was too sick to attend. He had been in St. Mungo's that entire month with little improvement in his health. Harry had wanted to be there even more than Hermione had. He felt horribly for Snape, knowing how being wrongfully accused felt, though it hadn't been for murder. Harry wanted to apologize, and tell him that he understood. Hermione promised to pass along the message, but she never got the chance.

Snape was ushered from the courtroom by Elijah shortly after the reading of the verdict. Elijah told her later that Snape was immensely relieved, but had left the Ministry quickly hoping to avoid the press that had gathered.

Hermione had spent the last three months wondering daily how Snape was doing. She voiced her concern often. Ron told her that it was none of her business, and that she should be more worried about Harry, whose health was failing rapidly.

The last thing Hermione wanted reminded of was Harry's condition. No matter what she or the other healers tried, how many ancient books she consulted, nothing seemed to make him better. All they could do was keep him comfortable, hoping for a miracle, while they tried every treatment known to man.

Harry was the catalyst for her trip. So far, that trip had led to her attack, and had left her sitting alone on a street bench in the chilly October haze. The previous day, she had visited Harry, who asked about Snape's welfare. Just like every time that Harry had asked, she had nothing to tell. The lack of information upset Harry. He told her then that they were responsible for Snape now because Dumbledore was gone, adding that Dumbledore would not have let Snape suffer after sacrificing so much for the Order. Hermione adamantly agreed. All they knew was that Snape was somewhere near New Orleans in the United States. She told Harry that she would take a few days off work to find Snape. This allayed Harry, and gave Hermione something to focus on, besides Harry's deteriorating health.

Ron wanted to join her, but he was too busy with his final year in Auror training. Since Harry was unable to continue, Ron had thrown himself into it. Pleased by his focus, she had been positively ecstatic when he rose to the top of the class.

Hermione laughed softly to herself that she had come to the city to visit a man who did not appear to want visitors. She had experienced worse days, she thought, as she stood to head back to her hotel. Choosing not to Apparate, she started walking, hoping it would clear her head.

Her hotel was on the next street over, so she entered the same alley that Snape had taken. Tightening the grip on her wand, she marched resolutely into the pitch-black alley. As soon as she entered the darkness, she walked into something very solid, falling back swiftly onto the ground. As she hit the concrete, she illuminated her wand. The sight the light revealed sent her into hysterical fits of laughter. Standing before her was Snape, who looked visibly shaken, until he noticed the light, and her laughter.

"What is so damn funny?" he asked tetchily.

Through her giggles, Hermione said, "I thought you were a bloody brick wall."

Snape sneered at her as he held out a hand. She took it, cured of her laughter by his stare as he pulled her to her feet.

"What are you doing, walking through dark alleyways, alone, at night? Have you forgotten how to Apparate?" Snape reproached.

Annoyed, she replied irreverently, "What are you doing, standing in a dark alleyway, alone, at night? Have you forgotten where you live?"

It may have been the dim wand light, but she thought she saw the edges of his mouth twitch.

"Pardon me," he said lowly. "I was coming back to ask you how Potter's treatment was coming along."

Surprised, she dropped the sarcasm when she answered, "Not well."

"It is a shame," Snape said. "He defeated Voldemort, but has been wholly unable to enjoy it."

Hermione nodded, "He feels the same way about you."

Snape's eyes widened at her words. "I am not dying," he countered.

"I know," she said, "but you almost did. I promised Harry that if I got the chance, I would tell you that he is sorry that he didn't believe you. He also wants you to know that he doesn't blame you for what you had to do, what Dumbledore asked you to do."

"Ah," Snape said quietly. After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Tell him that I do appreciate that."

"I will," answered Hermione.

They stared awkwardly at each other for a moment, until Hermione checked her watch.

"It's not terribly late," she said. "Would you mind some coffee?"

Snape's eyes darted nervously before he responded, "I should be getting home."

"Nonsense," she replied. "It's just coffee. And I can catch you up on what everyone has been up to."

After a deep sigh, he answered, "All right."

Again, they stared awkwardly, neither attempting to lead the way.

Finally, Hermione spoke. "Did I mention that I have no idea where to get coffee in this city?"

Again, the corners of Snape's mouth trembled, returning quickly to the practiced scowl.

"This way," he said, his cloak billowing as he turned and headed away from her down the alley.

She followed, almost running to catch up. "I hope it's not far," she said, "I really don't like to jog."

Snape glanced down at her quickly before slowing his speed. At the same time, she wondered how exactly she was going to ask him to return to London.


	2. Chapter 2

a/n - Thank you all for the early reviews. I will try to get Chapter 3 finished soon. Enjoy!

Chapter 2

As Snape walked into the light of the street accompanied by Hermione, he hoped that none of his "clients" would seek him out. He would certainly rather avoid that explanation.

Realizing that he had wished for the company, he couldn't help but want to get away. He battled those feelings the entire journey to the café. Several feasible excuses came to mind, but he decided to try to endure the inconvenience. It was coffee with an intelligent person, which was better than bourbon alone.

"What would you like?" Snape asked as they reached the small coffee shop.

"Oh," Hermione said, "just coffee, with a little milk foam on top, if they have it. Thank you."

He motioned for her to sit at one of the tables outside, and then went in to get their drinks. Returning shortly with two coffees, he took the seat on her right at the small round table.

After a few moments passed into silence, Snape said, "I'm surprised, I would have thought you the sugary type."

She laughed tensely, "That defeats the purpose of coffee. Ron takes his with as much sugar as the cup will hold. I keep telling him that he's going to rot his teeth, but he refuses to listen."

"You are still with the Weasley boy?" Snape asked, more to sustain the conversation than out of curiosity.

"Yes," she answered with a smirk, "as if you care."

Taken back by her perception, Snape said, "You brought him up."

"Yes I did," she replied assertively, "because I'm inclined to ramble."

"Nothing has changed, then?" he asked dryly.

She smiled as she said, "I guess not, except that now I ramble about unintelligent things that are of little concern to anyone other than me."

Snape allowed himself to chuckle very lightly, "I see that hasn't changed either."

Laughing, Hermione said, "At least we're both still comfortably the same. Imagine my surprise if you had become all warm and fuzzy since moving here."

Choking at the thought of a possible warm and fuzzy self, Snape nearly inhaled his coffee. Hermione giggled as he collected himself.

"So, have you any new friends in the area?" she asked.

Furrowing his brow, Snape answered, "I have never been much for socializing."

"Me neither," she replied as she stared at her nearly empty cup. "Ron wants to go out every Friday night to Diagon Alley, but I would rather stay home, or go visit Harry. Ron says I'll never have any other friends if I don't get out more. But I don't really want any more friends."

She looked up and smiled. Snape was watching her with his brows raised, trying desperately not to smile.

"I was rambling again, wasn't I?" Hermione asked.

Snape slowly nodded his head while the smile played at his lips.

"Professor," she said teasingly, "might you be smiling under there somewhere?"

He shook his head slightly. He couldn't believe it, but he was enjoying this.

"Are you sure?" she asked, raising an inquiring eyebrow. "You seem a bit twitchy."

Snape cleared his throat, "It's just that, well." He knew if he said it aloud, he was going to laugh. At last, the laugh won out, making Snape wonder when it was that he had found anything so comical.

"What is it?" she asked, now giggling herself.

"Foam," he said softly. "You have foam on your nose."

"What!" she exclaimed as her hand shot up to her face. "Did I get it?"

"No," Snape chuckled as he reached out and wiped away the last remaining bit with his napkin. He added, "There, now perhaps I can focus."

Hermione looked up at him with a shy smile. "How long was it there?" she asked.

"Somewhere around the part about warm and fuzzy," he answered still chuckling gently. "Anyway," he said, "you were going to catch me up?"

"Yes," she said, "I don't know where to start." Staring out into the street, she was obviously collecting her thoughts. "Oh," she suddenly said, "Percy Weasley and Penelope Clearwater were married in August. Percy is still at the Ministry, and he wanted to postpone the wedding until he got a certain promotion, but Penelope was in the family way, if you know what I mean."

Snape nodded his understanding of the euphemism.

She continued, "Bill is doing well, still working a desk job at the Ministry. Fleur was working part-time at St. Mungo's until she had the baby, another boy. They named him Percival, after Dumbledore."

Snape cringed at the sound of the man's name.

"I know," she said, apparently seeing his discomfort. "There was a reason why it was one of his middle names." She paused for a second, "Since the Ministry passed the Equal Employment for Humans, Half-Humans, and Subspecies Act, Lupin has been with Flourish and Blotts. Tonks has been relegated to a desk job in the Auror office now that they're expecting their first child."

This knowledge stole Snape from his thoughts of Dumbledore. "That poor child," he said.

Hermione giggled before saying, "I've researched it a bit for them. It's very unlikely that the werewolf curse will pass along to the fetus, but--" she suddenly stopped talking, looking at Snape with embarrassment in her eyes. "You probably already knew that."

He nodded slowly, "I was referring to having Lupin and Tonks as parents. One is dangerous once a month and the other is dangerous all year round. She'll drop the child on its head a dozen times before it's old enough to run away."

To Snape's surprise, Hermione actually laughed at his comment.

She was still laughing as she said, "Lupin expressed the same concern. He said that he was considering coating the house in foam rubber, at least until the baby is quick enough to take cover from its mother."

Snape allowed himself another chuckle, saying, "I don't know which is scarier, the fact that Remus Lupin said something witty, or that we had a similar thought."

"Ron is almost finished with Auror training," she continued. "Ginny has been working for The Daily Prophet as an Entertainment Editor. Fred and George have been unbelievable successful with their business. They have six stores now."

"Isn't there one more Weasley child?" Snape asked.

"Yes," Hermione smiled, "Charlie is back in Romania. He couldn't resist the call of the Norwegian Ridgeback."

"How about Arthur and Molly?" Snape prompted.

"They're well," she answered. "Mr. Weasley has been busy since his latest promotion, but since the war ended everyone is much more at ease."

Snape nodded slowly, wishing he could say as much.

Hermione must have sensed something amiss, "I know I gave you Harry's message, but I feel like I should apologize as well. I am sorry that I didn't trust you."

Snape nodded again as he said, "That is all in the past now. Thankfully, life doesn't stand still."

"Even so," she said softly, "I want you to know."

Snape chuckled in a casual fashion, wishing to steer the conversation elsewhere. He said hurriedly, "You freed me, so all is forgiven." He cleared his throat before adding, "I appear to be running low, how about you?" he asked.

Laughing, Hermione stood from the table as she said, "Let me get this round."

"But what will Mr. Weasley think?" he asked in jest.

"He never has to know," she answered with a smirk before she took his cup and went into the café.

Finding himself alone, he reflected on his chance meeting with Miss Granger. She hadn't changed much since he had seen her last, which had been at his first trial. Her hair was more elegant than it was that day. This evening, she had it pulled back into a graceful twist, giving her the look of aristocracy. Basic robes in cobalt blue did little to accentuate her figure. He chastised himself for thinking of her in that way. She was not simply any woman on the street.

Just then, Hermione sat his fresh coffee down, startling him.

"Sorry," she giggled, "I didn't mean to sneak up behind you again."

"I was merely lost in thought," Snape explained.

"About what?" she asked innocently.

Unable to tell her what had actually been going through his mind at the time, he lied, "I was thinking about Potter."

Hermione's face became solemn as she said in a clinical voice, "We have managed to slow the atrophy of his muscles, but nothing seems to stop it. Absolutely nothing we've done has improved his lung function--they're still degrading rapidly. If a treatment isn't found soon, I'm afraid it's only a matter of time."

"You have tried henbane?" Snape asked.

"Months ago," she replied, "As well as mugwort, juniper, and even nightshade, but nothing helps." She sighed before continuing, "They have him taking infusions of willow, cyclamen, and white bryony daily."

"That is an enormous amount of pain therapy," Snape observed.

"Harry needs it," she said, "or the pain is unbearable. He has been on a valerian treatment for the last couple of weeks, but it hasn't shown any signs of working."

Snape thought for a moment, "Do you have any idea what spells Voldemort used?"

"No," Hermione answered. Irritation was edging into her voice as she said, "Harry was quite busy trying not to be killed to hear what Voldemort was saying."

"I meant nothing by it," Snape said softly.

"I know," she sighed. "It's been so difficult to watch Harry get weaker everyday. It's been over a year, and I know sometimes he'd be happier to--"

"To die," Snape finished for her.

Hermione nodded. "Did you know that Harry turned twenty the day that you were released from prison?"

Snape shook his head no.

"He said that it was the best gift he could have gotten," she paused, "because he knew that he probably wouldn't see another."

Sensing the heavy turn the discussion had taken, Snape hastened to change the subject. "What has Longbottom been destroying lately?" he asked casually.

This brought a weak smile to Hermione's face. "Neville," she said, shaking her head, "he's working at the Ministry as a rare plant expert." She laughed before she continued, "He's still seeing Luna, that bizarre little blond woman. Do you remember her?"

Snape snorted, "How could one forget?"

"Right," Hermione went on. "They just got engaged. And I swear, if those two procreate, I'm never leaving my flat again."

Snape chuckled before saying smoothly, "You would have to leave, if only to warn others."

She laughed as she said, "Ever since they got engaged, Ron has been badgering me about when we're going to get married. He hasn't even asked me properly yet. What am I supposed to tell him?"

Surprised by her segue and the apparently rhetorical question, Snape asked, "Don't you want to marry him?"

"Of course I do." A diffident shrug joined her statement.

"That wasn't a very convincing yes," Snape replied.

Hermione narrowed her eyes as she said, "He's one of my best friends. Why wouldn't I want to?"

"Best friends do not always make the best lovers." As soon as the last word left his lips, he knew he had gone too far. "I'm sorry," he said, "It is not my place to speak on such things with you."

"It's all right," she said quietly. "I don't know why I brought it up. Maybe Ron's right. I should make some new friends."

Snape chuckled, "We are having coffee. That would be easy enough to confuse that with friendship."

She smiled before saying, "Would you, no, you probably wouldn't."

"Perhaps you could ask the entire question and see where it leads?" Snape asked.

Laughing, she pulled a thick silver flask from inside her cloak. "Do you like bourbon?" she asked.

"Occasionally," he replied.

After uncapping the flask, she poured a generous amount into Snape empty mug and repeated the gesture on her own.

Holding up her cup, she said, "Here's to your new beginning."

Snape smirked, raising his cup as he said, "Here's to your impending nuptials."

They both chuckled as their mugs met. Snape drank the full contents of the cup, pleasantly surprised by the woman. She had fine taste. The bourbon was excellent, filling him with a warmth that he hadn't felt in years. When he lowered his mug, he saw Hermione staring at him.

"Do I have foam on my nose?" he asked softly.

She giggled, "No, I was just thinking what a shame it is that you don't live near London anymore."

"Why," he asked wryly, "so you could watch the people chase me down the street with their fiery torches and pitch forks?"

"Because I like talking to you," she answered. "You aren't anything like I imagined you would be."

"Have you been sneaking from that flask all night?" he asked lowly.

She laughed, "Maybe, but you can't deny the fact that we have had an entire conversation without insulting each other."

Snape chuckled, "Give it time. I'm sure I'll not disappoint you there."

Hermione was still gazing at him.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm going to be in town until Friday," she said. "Do you think you could find the time, one day, to show me around the city, New Orleans I mean?"

Caught completely off guard, Snape struggled to think of anything to say to avoid the situation. All his brain offered was to ask, "What day is today?"

She giggled, "Today is Tuesday."

"Do you know where I live?" he asked, admonishing himself for perusing this further.

"Yes," she said, "I followed you from there."

Struck by the information, he asked, "And you didn't say anything the entire way?"

Her manner coy, she responded, "I didn't know what to say."

Snape smirked as he said, "I've found, since moving to this country, that I answer quite well to 'Hey you, English guy'. Try that next time."

Giggling, she said, "You still haven't answered my question. I'll understand if you're busy."

His thoughts were trailing off. He envisioned himself escorting her through New Orleans, taking her to lunch, taking her on the riverboat.

Hermione was still staring at him. "You're busy," she said, shifting her gaze to the tabletop. "I thought you would be."

"No, I'm not," he finally said. "Come by tomorrow, around eleven. We will have lunch and then I will act as your guide for the afternoon."

"That would be fantastic," she said happily. As she stood from the table, she said, "I'll see you in the morning, then."

"I will walk you to your hotel," Snape said as he stood as well.

"Actually, it's just down the block from here," she said. "I think I can manage," she added as she patted the wand in her pocket.

"Very well," Snape said. "I will be awaiting your arrival in the morning."

They both stood, facing each other, but neither moving to leave. Snape was wrestling with his thoughts, trying to remain focused, until he could get back to the sanctuary of his apartment.

After almost a full minute, Hermione extended her hand as she said, "Good night Professor."

He took her hand in his. It was so warm and inviting, meeting his in a symphony of awareness. The feeling was much stronger than it was before, when he had touched her innocently enough. He kept his face impassive, but he stroked his thumb across the back of her hand once before he could stop himself.

"Good night," he said before releasing her hand.

Watching her for a moment as she walked away, he breathed a profound sigh before he started walking in the opposite direction. His thoughts were racing again, making his trip home a fast one.

By the time he reached home, he had convinced himself that he was only taking her around the city because, without her, he would still be in Azkaban. Still, his musings were not about her as his liberator, but as a woman.

As he removed his cloak, he went straight to the ice-cold bottle. He took a couple of large gulps before replacing it. How could he have allowed himself to think of her in that way, he pondered? He was just lonely. It had been nearly a year since he had felt the touch of a woman, and he was overreacting to the simple contact. Still, his mind wanted to explore the thought of her company.

He had lived mentally while incarcerated, in an attempt to retain his sanity. Thinking that he was condemned, he never thought he would again leave the walls of Azkaban. Sometimes, perhaps because of his loneliness, his fantasies would still creep up on him, wanting to explore certain avenues of interest, whether he wanted them to or not.

After changing clothes, Snape settled under the covers of his bed, immediately faced with the thought of spending time with Hermione the next day. He found that he was looking forward to it, but the reason why wasn't readily apparent. She was certainly smart, that was without question. She also possessed a biting wit that Snape admired. The fact that she hadn't hesitated in talking back to him was exciting. However, she was still Hermione Granger, his former student, no matter how many years had passed.

Snape decided that he was only attracted to the idea of her, the prospect of spending time outside of his apartment with another person. She was only in town for a couple of days, so he thought he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. She was a girl--an annoying, clever girl and nothing more--he told himself as he closed his eyes and tried to pretend that he wasn't deluding himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was already late when Hermione arrived at her room, and she stayed awake well into the early hours of the morning. The sterile, white ceiling of her hotel room was little company while her mind refused to rest, turning over the events of the evening. When Snape had agreed to coffee, she had expected it to be tolerable, moderately in the least. She hadn't anticipated him being charming, or to abandon his typical cynicism.

The easiness that she had experienced while talking with him was unanticipated as well. He paid attention, proving that he was at least polite, unless she had foam on her nose. Hermione smiled at the thought. The simple fact that Snape would find that, of all things, amusing was a window into the man. There was a complicated person beneath that disagreeable façade, and she wanted to find out more. Was it pity that inspired her desire to explore him, or was it genuine curiosity, she deliberated?

If it were possible, he was more pallid than he had been when she had last seen him. Furthermore, he seemed to have lost weight, weight that he didn't have to lose. The most shocking change was his hair, cut short with the top a little longer than the sides, making him nearly unrecognizable. Even so, he still possessed the same chiseled features, and the same bottomless, black eyes that retained the daunting stare that Hermione remembered so well. Though he still looked intimidating, he was reserved in a way that she never thought possible. He seemed timid at times during their conversation. The demeanor of the professor that she remembered did not include the word timid. Hermione thought he feared nothing, and that underlying apprehension she detected intrigued her.

Understanding how difficult the last few years must have been for Snape, she wanted to help, but she wanted something else as well. During their conversation at the cafe, she had thought it more appropriate to gain Snape's trust before asking him to return to London with her. She hadn't discussed her plan with anyone. Therefore, if he declined, no one would be disappointed. Still, she was optimistic that he wouldn't. Snape had the greatest mind she knew of when it came to potions and many other things as well, so she was confident that Harry's last hope was Severus Snape. If he couldn't cure Harry, then no one could. Tomorrow would be a better time to ask, she thought, so that she would have all afternoon, and perhaps all evening, to bring it up.

Then Hermione's thoughts skipped to their goodbye at the café. Snape had taken her hand so kindly, a gesture that struck her as remarkable for the man who had always seemed so callous and unforgiving. With the war now over, perhaps he was free of the stress. Then again, his time in prison may have given him the opportunity to reassess his outlook on life. On the other hand, she was probably over thinking this, just as she over thought everything else in her life. Accepting her last evaluation as truth, she drifted off to sleep.

Dreaming of funerals and weeping Weasley's, Hermione awoke the next morning with a start. The same dream had haunted her for weeks, Harry's death and the aftermath of sorrow. It was easy enough to talk about Harry's condition, she was a healer after all, but to put it into personal terms hurt too much to consider. Simply thinking of it nearly brought her to tears.

Quickly reigning in her thoughts, she hurried to the shower. Since she was considering this a vacation, Hermione hadn't set the alarm. She had almost slept too long as the time was nearing eleven already.

Choosing muggle jeans and a lightweight blue sweater, she dressed in a rush. She checked that she had her wand, and a fair amount of muggle and wizarding money, before leaving for Snape's apartment. The streets were packed. Hermione felt disoriented, having so recently awoken. Most of the people in the street had probably been at work all morning and were on their way to lunch. Feeling a bit guilty for sleeping in, she reminded herself that it was time off from work and worry, so she shouldn't do either.

About fifteen minutes later, she found herself outside Snape's building, jealous that he had found an apartment right on the lake. His building had three floors, and she suddenly remembered that she didn't know his apartment number. The locator spell that she used to find him hadn't been quite that detailed. By exiting the building the previous night, Snape had saved her the trouble of finding out any more information.

Panicking slightly, she backed up to the edge of the street to look up into the windows. The sun was high enough that it obscured many of them, but if she were lucky, Snape would be coming to the window to see if she had arrived.

To her relief and amusement, Snape did pass in front of one of the windows on the third floor. He appeared to be in a hurry, and she didn't think he was wearing a shirt. Smirking at the thought that he had almost overslept as well, she went into the building and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Orienting herself, she deduced that his was the door to the right. His apartment turned out to be number thirteen. How apt, she thought.

She knocked, but there were no sounds coming from within. Worried for a second that she had chosen the wrong door, Hermione was about to run down the stairs to check the window again when the door opened.

"Good morning," she said to the open door.

No one answered. Peering around the door, she didn't see Snape, or anyone else for that matter. Recognizing that he had charmed the door only to admit those he chose, she closed it behind her, and walked to the couch. She was heartened to see his cloak draped across the back.

Snape's apartment was enormous. The entire wall that lined the street was comprised of windows, from the floor nearly to the ceiling, providing a spectacular view of the lake. The sills were filled with potted plants, some even Hermione couldn't identify. The far wall held a small kitchen, complete with an undersized table that had only two chairs. The couch seemed to be in the middle of the great room, set in front of high bookcases that composed the wall to her left. There looked to be room enough behind the bookcases to walk. She assumed that the makeshift hallway this feature created led to the bedroom.

She felt suddenly odd, standing alone in his apartment, as if she were intruding. "Sir?" she called. "The door let me in. I'm going to sit on the couch."

When she sank into well-worn leather sofa, Hermione thought that it was quite comfortable, especially with the plethora of books to admire from where she sat. She was contemplating taking a copy to flip through when Snape appeared from around the wall of books

He was smiling at her when he said, "I'm glad you told me you were going to sit or else I may have worried."

Hermione returned the smile, except that she was smiling at the view. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a long-sleeve, dark green shirt that lay unbuttoned over a white t-shirt. His clothes--coupled with his short hair that looked to be wet from a recent shower--made him look like a completely different person.

Laughing softly, Hermione said teasingly, "I'm sorry. I must have the wrong apartment. I was supposed to meet Professor Snape."

Snape chuckled, "Could you call me something other than Professor? It sounds so odd anymore."

She grinned as she said, "I don't think I can call you _Mr. Snape_. That sounds worse to me."

"Then call me by my first name, you remember that don't you?" he said with a smirk. "That is only if 'Hey you, English guy' fails to capture my attention," he added as he walked to the windows and began plucking leaves off one of the plants that Hermione didn't know. "We will be leaving in just a moment."

Even though Snape had his back to her, she merely nodded as she giggled timidly at having his permission to call him by his first name. Unnerving her even more was the change in his attire. If she had passed him looking like that in the street, she would have given him a long second glance, not because she recognized him, but for more disconcerting reasons entirely. He looked younger, and the lack of black clothing emphasized his raven-black hair and eyes to a striking degree.

When he finished with the plant, he moved to the table, where he summoned a large cauldron from a cabinet and started a fire beneath it. Realizing she was staring, Hermione turned her attention back to the books in front of her. If she didn't know better, she would have thought that she was attracted to him.

>

As Snape started the potion, he wondered if Hermione knew what he was doing. He dismissed the thought when she didn't question him. In all likelihood, she would have no experience with such things. Besides, the leaves needed to stew almost twenty-four hours before the elixir would be ready, so he had no choice.

Snape was glad to see that she was on time, though he almost wasn't himself. Unable to sleep the night before, he had left his bed to finish the bottle of bourbon before finally dozing off or passing out, he wasn't sure which. His night had been filled with dreams of large empty rooms, where all he could hear were the ominous voices of those he had killed in his life, Dumbledore among them, telling him how little he deserved to be alive.

Waking shortly before eleven, Snape hurriedly showered and downed a potion for his hangover. Luckily, he prepared those in advance nowadays. He assumed that they would need to wear muggle attire and dressed accordingly. Actually, he had still been dressing when he heard the door open for Hermione.

Snape added water to the cauldron and steeped the fire until it came to a rolling boil, adding the leaves all at once. When he reduced the heat, the mixture slowed to a simmer, and Snape was ready to leave.

"Shall we?" he asked.

She started upon hearing his voice. "Yes," she answered sharply.

"What kind of food do you like?" Snape asked

"I'm not picky," she said. "Well, I don't like sushi."

He smiled, "How do you feel about Cajun?"

She slowly shook her head, "Okay, so I _am_ picky."

Snape chuckled, "All right, how about we walk around until you see someplace that suits you."

"That I can do," she replied with a smile.

Snape led the way down the stairs and out onto the street. After about a block, he looked down to speak to Hermione only to see that she was walking a few paces behind.

"I know that I'm your guide," he said, "but that doesn't mean that you have to walk behind me all day. Was I walking too fast again?"

"No," she said as she hastened to catch up, clearing her throat before she stammered, "I was only…um…well…looking."

"Looking at what?" he asked, trying not to laugh at her sudden nervousness.

"The view," she said under her breath before looking up at him and adding, "around."

This time Snape laughed aloud as he said, "Did you leave your brain in the apartment? You really should go back for it before we get too far."

She laughed, "I'll be fine." Then she muttered something else that he couldn't quite hear.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said, blushing slightly. "I guess I'm just hungry.

"Then we must get you food," he said dryly, "before you go utterly mad."

Deciding on side-along Apparition since Hermione had no idea where they were going, they left from an alleyway a short walk from the apartment. Snape took them to a designated Apparition point on the Riverwalk.

They journeyed down the street for twenty minutes before at last Hermione chose a diner decorated in a 1950's theme. Selecting a booth, they both ordered a hamburger and fries.

While they waited for their food, Hermione said, "I bet this place takes you back to your childhood."

Snape smirked as he replied, "I'm not that old, thank you."

Hermione was laughing before he had finished the sentence, "I know, you graduated with Lupin, didn't you?"

"Yes," Snape said sarcastically, "and I consider myself lucky."

"Why's that?" she asked.

"I made it out alive," explained Snape.

Hermione giggled softly.

"Is there anywhere in particular that you want to visit today?" asked Snape.

"Not really," she answered, "perhaps a couple of the cemeteries. I understand they're rather impressive."

Snape chuckled as he asked, "You would rather peruse a cemetery than see the French Quarter or Bourbon Street?"

She shrugged, "I want to see all that too, but I saw a book once that had pictures of the crypts here. They were eerily beautiful. I'd really like to see them if we can."

"All right," Snape said. "But you do understand that this makes you creepy."

Hermione grinned as she nodded.

Shortly thereafter, their food arrived. Hermione dug into hers immediately, as though she hadn't eaten in days.

"You are going to get indigestion," Snape advised as he watched her devour her meal.

Hermione held up a finger while she chewed the most recent bite. At last, she said, "It's a bad habit I picked up over the years. Eating takes too long sometimes. Like sleeping for instance, if I'm moving along well with my research or something, I'll stay up until all hours of the night. At times, the only reason I've gone to bed at all is to have a decent excuse to drink lots of coffee in the morning."

Smiling, Snape said, "There is an insomniac in us all."

Hermione finished eating long before Snape. She was fidgeting slightly when he gave up on his food. It seemed lately that no matter how hungry he was, he got full very quickly, or he became nauseated at the thought of eating entirely. He knew it was the liquor, and his guilt, yet he kept reveling in both anyway.

"That's good enough," he said, pushing aside his plate. "If we go back the way we came, there are some very old cemeteries in the Garden District. If I'd known you had a penchant for the macabre, we'd have gone that way in the first place."

Hermione just snickered as she counted out some muggle bills, saying, "I'm buying today, no matter what you say, so don't even try."

Snape smiled as he said, "Well then, I won't charge you for the tour."

After paying the bill, they left and headed back west. Snape glanced down every now and again to see Hermione taking in the city. Her eyes were wide as she admired everything from an old storefront to the old black man who sat out in front of it. Snape had just recently discovered that the man was a wizard. After he told Hermione this, she insisted on talking with the man. Snape listened as she peppered the poor man with questions about what it was like to be a wizard in America.

When she had satisfied her curiosity, they moved on. Just as they walked past the narrow alley where they had Apparated in, a fierce rainstorm deluged them. With nowhere near to seek shelter, Snape grabbed Hermione's arm and pulled Hermione into the small alley, Apparating with her back to Lakeshore Drive. Running the rest of the way to his building, Snape opened the door for the sopping Hermione, who darted into the foyer. As soon as Snape stepped inside, Hermione hit him with a charm, drying his clothes. She repeated the spell on herself, finishing with her hair.

Snape could feel that his hair was still wet. "You missed a bit," he said, pointing to his head.

She smiled shyly before saying, "I like it like that."

Caught off guard, Snape didn't know how to respond. Instead, he changed the subject. "These storms can last all day," he said lowly. "I thought it best if we came back here to wait it out."

"I assumed as much when you yanked me into the alley," she replied. "Then again, you've been doing that a lot lately."

Snape chuckled at her comment, especially since she was right.

"Besides," she went on, "there's something I need to talk to you about anyway."

Without looking at him, Hermione started up the stairs ahead of him. Snape followed, curious as to what she wanted from him. By the time they entered his living room, he had convinced himself that she recognized the plant and was going to confront him about it.

Snape said, "It's not what you think." However, Hermione had said something else at the exact same time.

"What did you say?" they both asked in unison.

They stood quietly waiting for a few seconds before Snape said, "You first."

Smiling shyly, Hermione said, "I want to hire you."

Astounded, Snape asked, "To do what?"

After sighing, she answered, "To try to help Harry. I'll pay you."

Snape didn't know what to say. Of everything that she might have asked of him, he hadn't anticipated that.

Suddenly Hermione asked, "What was it that you said?"

"Oh," he hesitated, "I asked if you would care for coffee."

"I would love some."

The rain was cascading down the windows of Snape's apartment while he stared into her hopeful eyes. Snape would have found the rain soothing if not for the question he had just been posed. He wanted to be mad at her, but he found that he couldn't. If he did possess the knowledge that could help Potter, Snape owed it to Dumbledore to try.

Hermione had started to turn away from him when Snape found his voice, "I can't promise anything."

She laughed nervously as she walked toward the couch, "I'm sure your coffee is fine."

Snape smirked at her misunderstanding. "No," he said, "I'll do what I can for Potter."

Immediately, Hermione spun around, crossed the room quickly, and threw her arms around his neck before he could stop her. "Thank you," she said breathlessly.

Arms stiff at his sides, the sudden gesture baffled him. He noticed right away that her scent was delightful, the mild spice of green tea mixed with honeysuckle. He wrestled with the varying urges to return the hug or to push her away.

Abruptly, she drew away on her own, her face flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm a hugger. It's what I do at times like these."

Quickly turning away from her, he said, "It's quite all right. I'll make the coffee now."

Swiftly moving to the kitchen area, he disregarded using magic entirely. He needed the time to calm himself. As he prepared the kettle, he told himself that he had not delighted in the hug at all.

Once he had prepared the two mugs, he was ready to face her again, but when he turned around, he saw that she was nowhere that he could see. Assuming that she had sought out the bathroom, he levitated the couch to turn it toward the windows, something that he did every time it rained.

Once he heard her startled cry, he realized that she had been reclining on the couch, out of sight. He finished the transition, setting the couch lightly to the floor.

Seeing the distress on her face, Snape said evenly, "Sorry about that."

"It's all right," she said in a tense voice as she sat up, still wearing a look of concern. "I'm glad the couch isn't possessed."

When Snape reached the couch, he passed Hermione the other mug, and sat down on the far end of the sofa away from her. That hug had brought back the conflicting feelings from the previous evening. He was embarrassed that she hugged him, but he was also scolding himself for missing the opportunity to hug her back. He stared at the rain spilling down the glass, trying to steal his mind from the thoughts of Hermione, her temptation, as well as what he had just so hastily agreed to. While he longed for the rain to end soon, it was only to shorten her visit. He also wished that she would stop staring at him. He could see her in his peripheral vision, her pleasant face apprehensive. Trying desperately to belie his thoughts, he stared tenaciously out the window. When he saw her open her mouth to speak, he wondered what on Earth she was going to put him through this time.


	4. Chapter 4

a/n - Thank you all for the reviews! They are always so fantastic. Hope you enjoy this bit as well.

Chapter 4

As Hermione observed Snape staring vacantly out the window, she thought that perhaps she could successfully pretend nothing happened.

"Your hair is almost dry," she tried to say indifferently.

Looking startled, Snape replied quietly, "It dries faster since it's shorter."

"Why did you cut it?" she asked.

"It seemed like the thing to do," was his chilly reply.

His gaze didn't waver from the rain-soaked windows. Hermione examined his empty expression for a few minutes before refocusing on her coffee. It was quite good, but it wasn't taking away the chill that had settled upon her.

When they had left his apartment earlier, Hermione lagged behind, only for a second, to admire the man she had never seen in anything besides robes. Unfortunately, he caught her. That had been embarrassment number one for the day.

After they got drenched in the rain, she decided to leave his hair wet for her own amusement, assuming he wouldn't notice. Then, when he did notice, her stupid brain had to go and be honest. That was embarrassment number two.

Just then, she resolved to ask Snape about Harry at the first opportunity, simply to get it out of the way, before she made anymore of a fool of herself.

When Snape agreed to her proposal, she was so relieved that she did what came naturally. She hugged him, and she knew it had been the wrong thing to do when his shoulders went rigid.

Hermione didn't know what to say, so she hid on the couch, hoping he would be unaffected. Now, an eerie silence, no doubt induced by her spontaneous embrace, permeated the room. The more time that passed, the more uncomfortable the silence became.

Taking a fleeting glance, Hermione saw Snape still staring indifferently into the rain. After nearly half an hour, she was ready to try almost anything to put an end to that stare.

"All right," she said as gently as possible, "so I hugged you. Could you please get over it?"

Her statement had the desired affect. Snape turned to face her, his expression mixed. His eyes appeared stunned, but his face looked upset.

His voice deep and somewhat menacing, he said, "It is very selfish to assume that your absurd display is what I am thinking about."

Snickering, she said, "Selfish? You're the one sitting there like a statue. What are you thinking of then?"

Snape frowned before taking on a poised sneer as he said, "That is none of your concern. You think, after I agree to return to the city that shunned me to treat a nearly hopeless case, that I'm stuck on a ridiculous hug?"

"Yes, I do," she replied, smirking as she did so. This was the chance that she needed to remedy the situation. "As you just said, you're coming to London, so you will be working with me. Aside from my rambling, you're going to have to get used to being hugged. I'm adding that as a stipulation of our deal."

His brow furrowing, Snape asked, "What deal?"

Hermione grinned mischievously, "I will only pay you if I'm allowed to hug you, if and when I feel the need, should the mood strike."

A smile was sneaking into Snape's glare as he asked, "You've been joking this entire time?"

"Maybe," Hermione said casually.

"You've caused me to waste precious energy defending myself?" he challenged.

"Clearly," she answered haughtily.

His eyes narrowed, and there was a definite smirk on his lips as he said, "I don't know what to think of you anymore."

"Before you start thinking on that, Severus," she goaded, putting all the emphasis on the use of his first name while she held out her cup, "I need more coffee."

Snape chuckled faintly as he said, "It's about time someone told you that you are extremely demanding."

Hermione displayed a wicked grin before saying, "It's about time someone told you that my cup does not look to be refilling itself."

Laughing quietly, Snape took her cup, and headed for the kitchen. Hermione heaved a sign of relief. She had been serious, until Snape made her realize how silly the thought had been.

Snape returned quickly. As he handed back her cup, he said silkily, "There you are my liege. Do you require anything else?"

Giggling, she waved a hand and said, "That will be all."

"Very good," he replied as he reclaimed his place on the sofa.

The change in the mood was palpable, the awkwardness all but gone.

"The storm hasn't let up at all," Hermione observed

"Yes, it is spectacular." Snape muttered something else, apparently to turn off the lights.

The room was plunged into nothing but the grey light of the leaden sky. Hermione marveled at the massive windows, now glowing like a movie screen in the darkened room. The rain was racing down the glass in meandering rivers, swaying with the pitch of the wind. It was a turbulence of shapes, like an artist's canvas, transforming with the whim of each masterful brush stroke.

The rhythmic murmur of the falling rain was beautifully soothing, clearing her mind of the worries of the day. Hermione closed her eyes, allowing the sound to take over. Very tenderly, Snape's voice entered the void the rain's song had created. She kept her eyes shut, reveling in his vibrant baritone.

"This is purification," he muttered, "as though the heavens have freed their tears to wash away the sins of civilization. As the rain drenches the earth, it restores the life that living has assailed. It replenishes, and by doing so, sustains us for another day."

Hermione opened her eyes. Snape had relaxed, reclining his head onto the back of the sofa. The look of peace he owned in that moment was incredible. His eyes were shining with an understanding, as though the very purpose of existence was contained within those vitreous pools of black.

Slowly, he turned his head and met her gaze. His moonless eyes excited her as they peered. Then again, they made her want to run. If he stared much longer, she would live to regret something. What that something was, her mind was unable to specify just then. Her conscience was swimming under his piercing gaze, yet trying to tell her not to act on what she was feeling.

Lazily, he returned his stare to the windows. She realized her pulse was rapid. Closing her eyes to calm herself, she sought to make sense of the flooding emotions that had just overwhelmed her.

"I'm rather fond of these storms," Snape said distantly.

She only nodded as she came to terms with what she had experienced. If he had stared a few seconds more, she would have probably kissed him.

>

Enjoying the storm, and again enjoying the company, Snape had finally found repose. When he observed Hermione, he thought she was as well.

He had been startled when she called him on his anxiety about the hug. The only thing he could do to save face was deny it. Fortunately, she was only being facetious.

Snape felt much more at peace, the cadence of the downpour adding to his tranquility. That tranquil mood had allowed his vision to linger on Hermione, taking in the smooth lines of her face, the subtle fullness of her lips. Her large eyes, the color of polished copper, gazed back, and he thought he saw something flicker within them. Was she intrigued by him, he wondered? Then again, had his stare discomfiting her? Snape didn't allow that thought to trouble him. The ambiance of the early afternoon was granting him a rest from his typically disappointing existence.

"Um…sir…I think I should go," said Hermione.

Crooking his head toward her, he saw that she looked concerned. "Why?" he asked, "Is there somewhere you must to be?"

"No," she replied abruptly. "I don't want to impose."

"It is no imposition," Snape said as he smiled. "But if you would prefer to spend such a magnificent afternoon in seclusion, then you know how to Apparate."

Her eyes darted quickly about the room before returning to his, "If you're sure my being here doesn't bother you."

"Not in the least," he said, looking back to the storm. It was only a very small lie. Her presence wasn't bothersome, though it was fascinating.

"Do you mind if I read?" she asked.

"Do you plan to read aloud?" he asked with a smirk.

"No," she giggled.

"Then I don't mind," he answered dryly.

The storm persisted. Snape spent the next couple of hours shifting his gaze between the windows and Hermione as she read. Out of the corner of his eye, he studied her sitting with her legs folded beneath her with her nose inches from the page.

Once she finished with the book, she challenged him to a game of wizard's chess. Snape happened to have an old set, and he quickly questioned why she had suggested the game. She was actually quite terrible at it. After her third miserable lose, the sun was starting to set, and she proposed they order dinner.

Hermione called for delivery from a Chinese restaurant. It was the first time Snape had ever been involved in using the payphone in his apartment building. He told Hermione that he didn't know where to find a phonebook, but she said it was not a problem. To his amazement, there was a phone number to call to obtain other phone numbers. The things non-magic people thought up.

Snape listened intently while Hermione filled him in on Harry's treatment history over dinner. Harry had already received a comprehensive series of therapies, but Snape was compiling a mental list of the therapies that they had yet to attempt.

"Would you like a drink?" Snape asked Hermione as she helped him clear the table.

"Sure," she said. "What do you have?"

"Bourbon," he smirked.

"Occasionally, huh?" she smiled back.

He shrugged as he retrieved the bottle from the refrigerator, along with two glasses. When he turned back, he saw Hermione had returned to the couch.

"I can't believe it's still raining," she said as Snape crossed the room.

He chuckled as he again turned off the lights, casting the room into the amber glow from the street lamps below. "Such is life on the Delta," he said.

Pouring their drinks, he handed one to Hermione as she spoke.

"It reminds me of Hogwarts when it used to rain for days on end."

"Yes," Snape replied. "I believe all those years in the dungeons inspired my love of windows. It is incredibly difficult to watch rain through stone."

Hermione laughed before saying in a solemn voice, "Can I ask you something, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He chuckled, "In that case, I suppose."

She took a large sip from her glass before she asked, "Why did you become a Death Eater?"

Shocked by her candor, Snape's hand automatically went to his left forearm. Even through the fabric, he could feel the Dark Mark that remained etched into his skin as a constant reminder of his immense stupidity.

"You would ask that question," he said quietly as he rubbed his arm. "The one so complicated to answer."

"You don't have to," she said quickly. "I've just always wondered."

"It's a fair question," he sighed, surprised by his own desire to explain.

He took a deep breath before continuing, "As you are well aware, my father was a muggle and my mother a witch. Shortly before my seventeenth birthday, my father succeeded in what he had worked towards throughout my childhood. He killed my mother, more by accident than anything. I don't think he fully intended to, and I don't know why she never fought back when it would have been so simple. Although, if I had been there…"

Hermione's gasped as his voice trailed off, her eyes wide, "I had no idea."

"You wouldn't," Snape said gravely. "I was at school at the time, and Dumbledore took care of everything. Somehow, he managed to keep it out of the papers, and made sure that my father ended up in a muggle prison. I still had to finish school, so I stayed in my parent's old house alone during the summer before my seventh year. Lucius Malfoy visited me that summer, and brought with him the idea of joining Voldemort after we graduated."

He paused to laugh mirthlessly, "We were brooding teenagers who liked to talk of being evil, but we had never discussed actually going through with it in our adult lives. Nonetheless, I was young, and downright foolish, so I agreed. I thought the Dark Lord could offer me the revenge that I sought. Two years and countless sins later, Voldemort suggested I go to Dumbledore to seek a job, enabling me to act as spy. That was three months before the attack on the Potters. Just so you're aware, I wasn't a party to those murders, but I did impart the information that sealed their fate."

Hermione nodded with her mouth lightly agape. He hesitated as the memory washed over him before resuming the story.

"That very night," Snape said, "Voldemort told me the names of the people whom he believed to be involved in the prophecy. I realized then just how irresponsible I'd been. I begged Voldemort to delay, to reconsider killing a child who may well not even be the one involved in the prophecy. However, he simply laughed at me, saying I was weak, and that I needed to see the greater good the murder of the child would serve. In the end, Voldemort said he would wait, to give me time to research the prophecy further, but he added that many more people would have to die before he became all-powerful. He reminded me that I would be in his service forever because of my misdeeds. Then, right before he hit me with the Cruciatus curse, he told me I should have thought about the consequences of my actions prior to becoming a murderer."

Hermione gasped profoundly.

"I assumed you already knew that," Snape said dolefully as he attempted to swallow the lump that has risen in his throat. "They were Muggles mostly. Usually people who I felt had wronged me in some way. There were only a few times a curse from my wand was directly responsible. Still, I was the one who suggested we attack them. I was the reason they--and sometimes their families--died for nothing."

Refilling his glass, he downed it quickly, hoping it would ease the nasty surge of guilt. Hermione's face was pale, staring fixedly at him, clearly waiting for him to go on. Purging the information also seemed to be lessening the burden, so he continued.

"Anyway, that night I made the decision to take the information to Dumbledore, to put a stop to the senseless slaughter of innocents. The next day I was in Dumbledore's office. It was as if every stitch of guilt that I had ever felt came crashing in at once. I know Dumbledore saw it, all the pain, and the guilt. I was a dreadful Occlumens then. He listened, and he forgave me, something I didn't think possible. That night, Dumbledore appointed me potions master, to begin at the start of the next term. I recounted to Dumbledore everything I knew. Before he would allow me to return to Voldemort, Dumbledore trained me in Occlumency and Legilimency for my protection. Unfortunately, after I had pled for the lives of the Potters, Voldemort didn't trust me with any further details."

Snape paused to sip his drink. His throat was becoming dry. He hadn't spoken that much since he had been at Hogwarts.

"My greatest regret is that I didn't know Peter Pettigrew was Death Eater," Snape said sadly. "If I had known that one tiny piece of information then everything would have been different. Instead, Lily and James still died, and Voldemort vanished. I believed Sirius to be the spy, just as everyone else. I was also ignorant enough to believe that Voldemort had actually been defeated. I asked Dumbledore to let me tell all the names, to put as many in Azkaban as possible. I would have confessed every transgression, spent the rest of my days in prison, if it meant stopping men like Lucius. However, Dumbledore wanted me to remain silent, in case he ever needed me to return to the fold. Instead, he testified on my behalf, allowed me to keep my job, and treated me as a friend. Moreover, he trusted me, and I was a better man for it. The following years were the most stable I'd known," he smirked, "that is, until Potter showed up."

Hermione's eyes were still wide as she said, "And then Voldemort returned."

Snape nodded while he took another sip before continuing, "Going back to that life was torturous. Dumbledore prepared me as best he could, but nothing can prepare you entirely. When it all came down, I wondered if it was worth it. I definitely wondered that when Dumbledore told me to kill him if I had to. That was the most absurd thing I ever heard. I told myself I would never go through with it. I would have rather died, but Dumbledore thought that I was more important to the war than he was. I thought that he was crazy." Snape paused to chuckle grimly, "Then Draco, the moronic little prick, forced my hand. I would certainly have liked to be the one who shoved him through the archway at his execution. What a shame it was I had to miss it." His voice rough, he finished, "You know the rest."

Hermione was very still, her breathing shallow. As she stared at him, Snape prepared himself for her reaction, her certain disgust.

She breathed deeply before she said, "I can't imagine how difficult that all must have been."

Snape hadn't expected that, and he didn't know how to respond, so he picked up the bottle to refill his glass, and offered it to Hermione.

She took it and added to her drink before saying, "Thank you for telling me that. It can't be a pleasant story to tell. By the way, I'm not going to go blabbing about it either. I appreciate your confidence too much to betray it."

Snape couldn't believe her disregard of certain information. "You are unbelievable," he marveled. "I tell you that I'm a murderer and you act as though I bought a loaf of bread."

Shrugging, Hermione asked, "What do you want me to say? That was terrible, Severus. You shouldn't have done that--what--twenty years ago?" She laughed, "You figured that out on your own. Without you, we'd probably all be dead. Besides, you don't need to be punishedany more than you already have."

Shaking his head, Snape wished he could so easily forgive himself. Hoping to lighten the mood and remove his mind from the memories, he asked, "Now then, why did you become a Death Eater?"

Hermione giggled as she replied, "Well, you know, they had good benefits, so I thought what the hell."

Chuckling, Snape teased, "I forgot to ask earlier if you had set a date yet."

"For what?" Hermione asked.

"Your wedding," Snape answered smoothly.

Hermione gave a heartfelt laugh. Her laugh was lilting, as though it enjoyed hearing itself as much as he liked eliciting it.

"That's not fair," she said. "You are not going to change the subject to that."

"Why not?" Snape asked.

"Because," she emphasized. "I don't want to talk about it."

He chuckled as he said, "I damn near told you my life story, and you refuse to confide the details of your approaching marriage. I'm insulted."

Hermione giggled. Even in the dim light, Snape could see the blush of her cheeks.

"I don't even know that there'll be a wedding," she replied.

Laughing softly, Snape said, "That is interesting news."

"That is not what I meant to say," she said firmly through her giggle. "I don't know. I think I want to marry him, eventually, certainly not right now. But sometimes I wonder about us, you know. We don't like any of the same things, aside from Harry. And I often think that if Ron lived under the same roof as me, I'd probably kill him, and not figuratively either."

Snape was grinning as the floodgate of information opened.

"I don't know," she repeated. "I know that I don't want to settle down and have a family," her voice sounded affected, as though she had heard that suggestion many times before, "not in the near future, if ever. I know that's what Ron wants, and I feel guilty about that all the time."

Her eyes suddenly opened very wide, "Dear god, why haven't you shut me up yet?" she asked with embarrassment in her voice.

Snape was having trouble breathing through his fits. "Because I like listening to you," he finally managed to say.

Laughing herself now, Hermione said, "Do you know how strange it is to hear you laugh? It's like seeing the guards in front of Buckingham Palace dancing a jig."

He laughed even harder at the analogy.

"Look, it's finally stopped raining," Hermione said.

Still chuckling, Snape had a notion. Standing abruptly, he held out his hand to her and said, "Come on, I want to show you something."

She took his hand and he led her out the door, and through the hall, to the stairs that led to the roof. Snape was already halfway up the stairwell before he realized that he was still holding her hand. Pushing open the heavy door at the top, he directed her to the south edge of the building. From that vantage point, there was an unobstructed view of the immense, moonlit lake.

"It's breathtaking," Hermione sighed, then added with a smirk, "Do you bring all your dates up here?"

Returning the grin, he said, "Only my favorites."

She laughed softly before saying, "I won't tell Ron you said that either."

"That would be best," he said quietly. Again, he realized that her small, soft hand was still in his. As he released it, he quickly said, "Sorry."

"Let's not start that again," she said as she maintained her gaze out over the water. "I'll have to add handholding to the contract."

Snape smiled. He had never known anyone like her before, and he realized that some part of him wanted to be able to hold her hand again.

They stood there for a long while, the top of her head barely at his shoulder. She looked out at the sparkling water as he observed her furtively. The lake didn't interest him so much that evening. It wasn't until she started to shiver he suggested that they return to his apartment.

When they entered the living room, Snape immediately saw the time was nearing midnight. "I should escort you back to your room," he said.

"All right," she sighed. "Do you have a cloak I can borrow?"

"Of course," he said before he went to the bedroom tolocate his extra cloak. When he returned but a few minutes later, he found her curled up on the couch with her head on the armrest, fast asleep. Smiling, he summoned a blanked to cover her. He chuckled to himself that he hadn't thought to summon his extra cloak, as he draped the blanket over her.

Snape watched her for a few minutes, uncertain if he should wake her. Deciding that she was fine where she was, he went to bed himself. He didn't have time to mull over the day, or the captivating woman sleeping on his couch, as he slid under the covers still fully clothed. For the first time in many months, Snape fell asleep almost straight away--dreaming of London, Hermione, and a healthy Harry Potter.


	5. Chapter 5

a/n - Again, thank you all for your reviews. I finished this chapter early so I thought I'd go ahead and post it for you! Enjoy!

Chapter 5

Four of the Weasley brothers, Ron among them, had just carried Harry's body through the courtyard when Hermione awoke, sparing her the rest of the reoccurring dream. As soon as she sat up, a terrible pain shot through her neck. She had spent the entire night with her head on the arm of Snape's couch. Resting her head back onto the cool leather caused the pain receded a bit. She couldn't believe that she had fallen asleep. Even though she had slept in the previous morning, the time change must have finally caught up with her.

Listening intently, she could hear only the gurgle of the simmering potion that Snape had replaced on the kitchen table after dinner. The absence of any other sound meant that Snape wasn't yet awake.

Her watch confirmed that it was almost nine, which explained the rich sunlight suffusing the room. For a moment, Hermione considered trying to make coffee, but she didn't know where Snape kept anything. She could conjure some, but culinary spells were not one of her strong suits. Aside from her craving for caffeine, she again felt uneasy in Snape's apartment alone. She decided to wake him, which would suppress her nerves, and then he could make the coffee.

Still slightly dizzy with tiredness, she rose from the couch and stretched the knotted muscles that were protesting her choice of sleeping location. Convinced that no amount of stretching was going to do any good, she started toward the small hallway behind the bookcases.

As soon as she turned the corner, she saw that it did indeed lead into another room. She also noticed a door to the left that sat open. When she saw that it was the bathroom, she opted to make use of it.

Conjuring a toothbrush, she went about her normal morning routine. As she brushed her hair, she thought upon the sincere confession that Snape had made to her. After he had finished the tale, Hermione felt as though she to some extent finally knew the man. The information was damning, but nonetheless, some of the most egregious acts--even murder--can seem inconsequential when you hear the motivation behind them. The fact that Snape had chosen to turn his life around, no matter the consequences, was commendable, and the remorse that was evident in his voice and expression was what had touched her the most. Snape proved that he trusted her, something she had thought him incapable of doing. In that moment, she looked on him as a friend. As she finished taming her mane of curls into a ponytail, she hoped today would not be the end of their spontaneous goodwill.

Upon reentering the hallway, a sudden apprehension rose within her. The few minutes in the bathroom had been sufficient to wake her enough to understand how odd it was to be going into Snape's bedroom. Pushing down the idea, she pressed on. Coffee was worth the trouble, she thought.

As the wall to her left ended, the hallway opened up into a large room with identical windows as the living area, except that these faced north onto the sprawling city. Snape's bed sat against the far wall, and the only other furniture was a walnut wardrobe directly in front of her.

Hermione smiled at the sight of the lump beneath the predictably black covers that was Snape. Crossing the room to the windows, Hermione looked out onto the city with all the people bustling along, and all the cars speeding to some appointment or another. Hermione was glad that she wasn't among the morning rush that day. This vacation had been just what she needed.

A bleary voice interrupted the peaceful moment she was having. "Do you always wander into people's bedrooms while they sleep?"

"No," she said as she turned to face the now conscious Snape.

She saw at once that he was one of those lucky people who didn't appear disheveled in the morning. Besides his voice, nothing but his half-shut eyes implied his recent sleep.

"I didn't know where to find the coffee," she explained.

After stifling a yawn, Snape replied, "I keep it on the counter, in a canister marked coffee, next to the coffee pot. I can see how that could be a difficult mystery to solve."

Grinning, Hermione said, "Then go fetch your damned canister and make me some."

Snape chuckled before saying, "You slept on the couch, remember? I'm not obligated to make you anything."

Her apprehension forgotten as she laughed, Hermione strode to the side of the bed. "I believe I'm your guest, so unless you want me to oblige you by conjuring some horrid black liquid that doesn't even resemble coffee, you will kindly get your ass out of bed."

Smirking, Snape asked, "Do you recall what I told you about being demanding? I was wrong, you're bossy."

As Hermione giggled, she grabbed the edge of the covers and yanked them completely off the bed. To her surprise, he was still dressed in the clothes from the previous day.

Wide-eyed, Snape glanced down at his clothed form before saying, "That could have been embarrassing."

"Embarrassing for whom?" Hermione quipped.

"For you," he answered evenly with a smile as he swung his legs from the bed and stood. "Now, I'm going to go get my--what did you call it--my damned canister and make your infernal coffee. Feel free to join me at your leisure."

As he left the room, Hermione was relieved. She had feared that he might regret their conversation, or some aspect of her presence. However, he still seemed as pleased with her company as she was with his.

Leaving the room shortly after Snape, she could already smell the freshly brewing coffee. Upon entering the living room, she witnessed Snape siphoning off the cauldron he had prepared the day before and placing the potion into various bottles.

"Do you need any help?" she asked as she arrived at his side.

"No," he muttered as he waved his wand. The filled bottles went speeding into a kitchen cabinet while another speedy flick scrubbed the cauldron and replaced it under the sink in record time.

"What was that stuff anyway?" she inquired.

"A potion," Snape answered slowly.

"Really," Hermione scoffed. "I would have never known." Pausing a moment to laugh, she added, "Are you working on commission or something?"

"Something like that," Snape replied softly as he walked away from her to the kitchen counter.

Under the thick scent of the coffee, Hermione could smell the faintest odor of sulfur in the air. It reminded her of a patient she treated some time ago. The man had been under the influence of some potion that he had been carrying in a hair tonic bottle. Though the bottle had been nearly empty, the orange, pasty substance that remained had the same unique odor of sulfur.

"For the love of Merlin," Hermione sighed as she grasped what the cauldron may have contained. "Tell me that's not Fecund."

His back still to her, Snape didn't respond. That answered her question adequately.

"Why are you brewing Fecund Elixir?" she asked in disbelief.

Snape picked up the two mugs he had just poured and headed to the couch without meeting her eyes. She followed.

"Don't avoid the question," she demanded.

He still failed to answer, instead summoning a table from across the room to set the cups on before falling onto the couch.

"You aren't taking it, are you?" she asked ardently as she stood over him.

"Of course not," he answered stridently, finally looking up at her. The expression of disgust on his face scared her for a second.

"Then why are you making it?" she asked before answering herself. "You're selling it, aren't you?"

Snape's sigh and failure to answer again was all she needed to know. "Do you know what that does to people?" she asked him.

"Will you stop the inquisition?" he requested loudly, his voice impatient. "I know, trust me."

"This wasn't the way to go about making some money," she scolded.

"I know that as well," Snape said quietly. "Will you stop, if for just a moment?"

Hermione saw his demeanor alter as it had the previous night. He looked drained, and obviously not proud of what he was doing. Settling on the couch next to him with a sigh, she took her cup and a long sip.

"I'm surprised at you is all," she said at last. "I didn't expect that of you."

"What was I to do," he asked very softly, "starve?" He was staring back at the windows as he had the previous day.

Hermione shook her head. "I understand you think you don't have a choice, but you do. Please tell me you aren't going to do _that_ anymore."

"I have to live," Snape replied, though he still would not meet her eyes.

"Of course you do," Hermione said, setting down her cup and turning her whole body toward him. "You're coming to work with me, remember? I'll help you pay up the rent on this place for a few months and--"

Snape interrupted, "I'm not a charity."

"Call it an advance," she said. "Call it what you will, as long as you don't piss away your genius and call it necessity."

"Genius," Snape barely whispered while he shook his head.

"Yes, genius, and I stand by it. Don't tell me you didn't already know that. You are the only potions expert I've ever met who can actually give credibility to the term expert and I count you among the most powerful wizards I've ever known." She took a deep breath before finishing her statement, "All that considered, I ask you not to let your pride--"

Again, Snape interrupted. Swiftly, he turned his penetrating gaze onto her, his face mere inches from hers. "What do you know of my pride?" he asked assertively.

His eyes were alight with excitement, breaking her focus for a moment. The eyes that appeared black were actually the darkest brown with a thick halo of black around the edge.

She was resisting the urge to sway into him when she answered, "I know you're proud, and I know you aren't stupid, except you're doing a fine job of pretending at the moment."

"You expect me to just allow you to pay my way," said Snape heatedly as he leaned in a bit closer. He was so near that she could see nothing more than his rousing eyes.

Her face becoming warm, her breathing thin, she tried to concentrate. "I expect you to earn your keep," she said, her voice hushed.

"By saving Potter's life," Snape whispered.

"By giving it a shot," Hermione whispered back.

He was so very close now, enveloping her in his unblinking stare. As quickly as it began, it ended when Snape abruptly stood, leaving Hermione reeling.

"And if I accept," he said steadily, "what then? Am I indebted for the rest of my days?"

"No," she said quickly, thankful that his back was to her as she closed her eyes to think. "Consider it a loan--I really don't care what you consider it--as long as you just take the money. If you don't, you're a damn fool." She cringed. Her voice had become more forceful than she intended.

He turned his head slowly, looking down at her, and she had never before seen that look on his face. She couldn't tell if he was about to shout or weep.

"Sorry," she said, but again he interrupted her before she could continue.

"Don't be," he said deliberately, his voice even deeper than usual. "I earned that."

Sitting back down next to her, he took back his cup. As he stared into it he said, "Fine."

"Fine what, you'll take the money or stop selling?" she asked

"Both," he nearly whispered, adding, "You can be very persuasive when you start name-calling."

"You gave me no choice," she said. She smiled when she added, "I thought for a moment I was going to have to dangle you out the window to get my way."

"I wouldn't have given in so soon if I'd known," Snape said with a smirk.

Confident that Snape wasn't angry with her, Hermione said, "Now that we've settled that, I'll be back in about an hour, and then we can go."

"Go where?" Snape asked with a smile.

"You still haven't shown me the city," she explained. "Did you think you were off the hook that easy?"

Chuckling, Snape said, "Allow me a few minutes and I'll go with you. We can leave from your hotel instead."

"Hurry up then," replied Hermione.

Snape left for the bedroom, leaving Hermione to reflect on the oddly hectic morning. She wasn't so much disappointed with Snape as she was relieved that she arrived when she did. Things would have been much more difficult if she had found him languishing in an American wizarding prison for selling illegal potions. The most difficult part of the current situation appeared to be her feelings, which were becoming increasingly bewildering.

In no time at all, Snape returned wearing a fresh pair of dark blue jeans and a flaxen-colored button down shirt. His hair was wet again. He looked even better than he had yesterday morning, Hermione thought, as she blatantly stared.

His brow lined, Snape asked, "Do I look that awful?"

"Did you take a shower?" she asked, ignoring his silly question.

"A quick one, why?" he looked thoroughly mystified.

"No reason," she said, before clearing her throat. "You look…fine."

Still starting at her with visible uncertainty, Snape asked, "Shall we go then?"

"Yes," Hermione said with a smile, "after you."

As he led the way, she was again pleased with his choice of trousers. He should wear those particular jeans more often, she thought.

>

Walking to Hermione's hotel, they stopped at the café for two large coffees. The quiet journey allowed Snape to settle from the upheaval of the morning.

He had intended on having the elixir bottled and gone before Hermione came into the room, and he would have if he hadn't started the coffee first. Two days ago, if she had questioned him like that, he would have yelled. He would have told her to mind her own business. Then again, two days ago he wouldn't have imagined waking up with her standing at his bedside. As frustrating as it was, her opinion mattered to him now, no matter now much it pained him to admit.

When they entered the hotel lobby, Snape said, "I'll wait for you here."

"Why?" she asked.

Snape replied, "It would not be proper for me to be in you room while you change."

Hermione laughed, "Nonsense, I'll be in the bathroom, and I take longer than your three and a half minutes to get ready."

Still ill at ease about the idea, Snape conceded. Riding the elevator to the fourth floor, Snape followed her to her room.

"This still doesn't seem right," Snape said as Hermione slid the keycard through the lock.

"What's the big deal?" Hermione scoffed, pushing open the door. "I slept on your--Ron!"

"What?" Snape asked in confusion. The next voice to speak qualified Hermione statement.

"It's about time. Where have you been?" an irritated voice asked from inside the room.

By the time Snape heard the voice, it was too late. He had already taken a step into the room before looking up to see Ron Weasley standing in the middle of the room.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked in an oddly high-pitched voice.

"Apparently catching you in the act," Ron said icily, nodding his head toward Snape.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. "I just met him for coffee this morning, and I was coming back for some money before we went to the Riverwalk."

Impressed by her proficient lie, Snape found that he was suppressing a smirk.

Ron gave a humorless laugh before saying heatedly, "I might have believed that, but I've been here since last night. Do you want to try again?"

Grimacing inwardly, Snape glanced down to see Hermione dumbfounded with one hand on top of her head.

"She fell asleep at my apartment," Snape explained as calmly as possible. "She was on the sofa, it was late, and I didn't want to wake her. Nothing inappropriate occurred."

Ron turned his scarlet face to Snape. The anger in the boy's eyes was apparent, although unnecessary.

"I don't want to talk to you," Ron hissed. "I want to hear what Hermione has to say for herself."

"That's the truth Ron," Hermione said quickly.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Ron scoffed. "Maybe you'd like to go back to the other lie, I liked that one better."

"It is the truth, whether or not you choose to accept it," Snape said firmly.

"Don't patronize me," Ron shouted at Snape. "I can see perfectly well what's going on, and that neither of you are going to be honest about it."

"Perhaps you should look a bit closer then," Snape replied as unemotionally as he could.

Ron huffed toward the door.

"Ron," Hermione said loudly, stepping in front of him. She put her arms out, but he turned away from her and stared at the door.

Sighing deeply, Hermione was pleading, "I don't know what to say to make you believe me, but that is what happened. I fell asleep, nothing else happened, I swear."

"I can't talk to you right now," Ron said coldly. "I need to think about this. We'll talk about it when you get home tomorrow, and he better not be with you when you finally show up there."

After his statement, Ron swept from the room, slamming the door forcefully behind him. Hermione gawked at the now closed door. Left at a loss, Snape watched Hermione slouch onto the edge of the bed with her face in her hands. Deciding that he couldn't look on forever, Snape walked slowly to her side and sat next to her.

"I'll teach him Legilimency if you want, so he will know that you are telling the truth," he said.

Giggling gently, Hermione looked up, tears welling in her coppery eyes. "Thank you," she said, "that's sweet, but I doubt he'd be receptive."

"Probably not," Snape replied, trying to smile comfortingly.

Peering up at him with her eyes lustrous with near falling tears, she said, "I think I should go home now."

Disappointed at the news, Snape nodded while he curbed the emotion.

Hermione summoned her bag from across the room and started digging through it. "Here," she said, handing him a thick envelope, "this should be more than enough to pay your rent up for a while and whatever else you need to do before you leave."

Snape was speechless. His recent experience with muggle money told him that he was holding a substantial amount.

"Are you going to travel today, or tomorrow?" she asked him.

"I hadn't thought about it yet," he answered. "Are you sure that you still want me to follow you in view of Mr. Weasley's tantrum?"

She giggled softly, "Harry doesn't have time for our drama. Who knows when Ron will get over this?" Standing, she headed for the bathroom. "I am sorry plans have changed again. If you want to wait, I'll only be a little while."

Snape nodded, "I should have waited in the lobby."

Hermione smirked, the tears still holding their ground, "That wouldn't have made any difference." Pausing to wipe her eyes again, her voice fading into whisper, she added, "You'll still be here then?"

"I'll still be here," Snape replied.

"Good," she said as she vanished behind the door.

Hoping she wasn't crying silently on the other side, Snape sat on the edge of the bed regretting not waking Hermione the previous night. That one action could have saved her the heartache of the confrontation and the argument that was sure to follow as soon as she returned home.

As the time drew on, he counted the money in the envelope, which turned out to contain more than five thousand US dollars, more money than he had possessed in years. The question of how he was going to pay her back was already circling in his mind.

Half an hour passed before Hermione emerged from the bathroom. Pale green robes emphasized her imminent return to London, but they could not distract from her red and swollen eyes. As Snape watched her bustle about the room collecting her things, he was aware of a mounting regret.

"Have you decided when you'll come to London?" she asked as she zipped up her bag and reduced it for travel.

"Tomorrow," Snape said simply.

"I'll be at the hospital at noon," she informed him. "Meet me there and we'll figure out the other arrangements then."

Snape nodded as he stood.

"That's it, I guess," she said as Snape joined her at the door. "Will that be enough to take care of your expenses?"

"More than," Snape answered. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied with a pathetic smile.

Snape followed her down to the street and directed her to a secure alley.

"I'm sorry your plans for New Orleans didn't work out," Snape said as they reached the Apparition point.

"I had fun anyway," she said softly.

Snape merely chuckled, unable to say that he too had enjoyed her visit.

Hermione took a few tentative steps away before turning back, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Noon," Snape replied as he tried to place the empty feeling creeping into his stomach.

"London is still six hours ahead," said Hermione lightly.

Snape laughed quietly, "I am aware."

"Oh, hell," Hermione sighed, walking purposefully toward him. Putting her arms around his neck, she whispered, "Bye."

"Good bye," Snape replied as he patted one hand gently against her back. This time the hug wasn't so much daunting as it was a nice surprise.

Quickly drawing away, Hermione returned to the shadow of the building to Disapperate. She smiled shyly and waved before disappearing with a tiny pop.

As soon as she vanished, the emptiness that had been creeping moved in more vehemently. This was a different kind of emptiness than before, more tangible. Snape groaned wearily as he realized at once that he missed her.


	6. Chapter 6

A/n - Please forgive me, the perspective changes a lot in this chapter. I hope it's not convoluted. It's also a bit long. Again, the reviews have been fantastic. The feedback is glorious. Thanks to SilverandSilent readers can now leave anonymous reviews if they wish. Stay tuned, there is so much more to come.

Chapter 6

Hermione ascended the steps of Ron's building, trying to settle on what to say. Apparating directly there, she trusted that he had returned to his apartment. She didn't want to chase him down the streets of London to settle this. Upon reaching the door, she stared at it, unsure what Ron's reaction was going to be to seeing her so soon. Standing there wasn't solving anything, she thought, as she let herself inside.

Ron was sitting on the couch facing the door, his focus toward the floor until he heard her enter, his face changing rapidly from misery to bitterness.

"I should have known you'd come running back," he said callously.

"Nice to see you too," Hermione almost whispered. The tears that she thought had been successfully purged earlier were prickling again like mad. Crossing the room, Hermione took a calming breath, and sat on the coffee table in front of Ron.

"I know that looked bad," Hermione said earnestly. "Please trust me. Nothing happened."

"Nothing," Ron reiterated as he fiddled with something in his hands. "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?"

"I don't think you're stupid at all," Hermione protested. "If you would listen--"

"What is there to hear?" Ron exclaimed. His face flushed, he jumped to his feet and paced away from her. "The first words out of your mouth were a lie."

"I was scared, Ron."

"What was he doing going up to your room anyway?" he asked excitedly. "I thought you were just going to give him the money when you found him, not keep him as a pet."

"It's more complicated than that," she tried to explain. "I asked him to assist with Harry's treatment."

"Why didn't you tell me that before?" Ron countered indignantly.

"I didn't want to get Harry's hopes up," she answered cautiously, "or anyone else's for that matter."

"And you thought sleeping with him would do the trick?" Ron inquired in a harsh voice.

"I didn't sleep with him Ron," Hermione replied in frustration, swiftly rising to her feet. "We had a few drinks. I needed him to trust me if there was any chance of him agreeing."

That was near to the truth, she thought, if not entirely chronologically accurate.

Ron was eyeing her appraisingly when he asked, "Why was he coming up to your room then, if this was all so harmless?"

"I was changing clothes before he took me to the city," Hermione answered.

"You were going on a date," Ron said, openly affronted.

"No!" Hermione cried. "Don't twist my words. He was just going to show me around."

Shaking his head, Ron started pacing angrily, "You leave for a few days and you're running around with another man, keeping secrets. I don't know what to believe."

"It's not a big deal," Hermione stressed. "Why won't you trust me on this?"

"It's not that simple," Ron said as he walked up to her, took her hand, and placed a small, black box in her palm. Despairingly, he said, "The only reason I showed up was to surprise you, a fat lot of good that did. Honestly Hermione, I've been waiting for something like this to happen."

Stunned, Hermione tried to object but Ron spoke over her.

"There is something wrong with you--with us--something you aren't telling me, and I know it," Ron said as he tapped the box in her hand. "You hang onto this until you can decide what you want."

Ron walked to the door, opening it as he said, "If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."

Dejected, Hermione held back the deluge of emotions screaming to come out, crossed the room and stepped into the hall without looking at Ron. All the while, she was clutching the box he had given her and repressing the tears that were waiting so impatiently to fall. When the door clicked shut behind her, she opened the little box to discover an engagement ring. It was a modest diamond set in a simple white gold band. Upon seeing it, the regretful tears flooded down her cheeks. She instantly understood why Ron wanted to surprise her. As she made her way down the stairs and onto the street, she tried desperately to figure out how she had managed to make such a mess of things. However, most of all, she wanted to talk to Snape because he knew the truth, and he would listen.

>

After meeting with the super, paying him the previous months rent as well as the next three, Snape was in his apartment trying to pack. The trepidation of the trip was finding its distressing way into his mind. The only person in London who wanted him there was Hermione, and possibly Harry, which was a very odd thought in itself. Snape was sure that Ron wouldn't want to see him anytime in the near future.

The emptiness Snape had felt upon Hermione's departure was bothering him again. Hermione's arrival had started out obnoxious enough. However, her presence turned out to be something else entirely. Now, her absence was causing the bitter tendrils of misery to spread again, the ones formerly supplied by his regret.

After folding a few sets of robes, Snape paused to look out the bedroom window that Hermione had been standing by that very morning. He smiled at the memory of her ordering him out of bed. That memory led promptly to the next.

It had been naïve to think that she wouldn't discern what the cauldron contained. Perhaps unintentionally he wanted her to see, wanted her to comprehend to what lengths he had been pushed to survive. Snape knew that he wasn't prone to doing anything without reason, and brewing the potion right under her nose was a very good way to get her attention.

During her lecture, as it were, Hermione had been literally nose-to-nose with him, refusing to back down. She passed that test with verve, Snape reflected. The simple fact that he was putting her through those motions spoke volumes about his burgeoning respect for the woman. If she could match him verbally, then she could be formidable competition in other aspects as well. There had come a moment, her voice nothing but an airy whisper, that he thought she was leaning into him, that the weighty subject matter was not the reason for the sudden change in her respiration. Snape quickly squelched the thought. There was an enormous difference between what had been and what he wanted to perceive.

Acknowledging that he found her attractive was one thing, but trying to manufacture clues to her feelings for him was senseless. She was impassioned about the Potter boy's life, and that alone was her motivation for the entire incident. Disgusted with himself for being sentimental, Snape told himself that he was nothing more than a disheartened, middle-aged man who ought to stop daydreaming about the first person in ages to offer him friendship. Although, he reminded himself, she did refer to him as a genius.

>

Sitting rigid on the edge of her sofa, Hermione ogled the little black box that sat open on her coffee table. A few days before, she would have accepted Ron's proposal without hesitation, leaving her doubts to sort out later. It wasn't until she had voiced these doubts aloud to Snape, first out of nervousness and then again while a little tipsy, that those reservations began to glare ominously at the forefront of her mind.

What did she want? That was what Ron told her to decide. Furthermore, what had he meant by saying that he had expected something like this? Had he expected her to cheat on him? She hadn't cheated, she reminded herself brusquely. She had spent a very innocuous and wholly uncomfortable night on the couch.

Still, aside from her harmless inspection of Snape's finer qualities in his muggle jeans, there had been a moment when Ron and Harry were disregard, her obligations mute, and she had wanted terribly to fall deep within those dusky, nearly black eyes. The mere memory hastened her breathing. Ron's accusations may have held some validity if Snape hadn't stood up when he did. Had Snape been tired of arguing at that moment, or did he sense the magnetism as well?

Hermione laughed glumly at her predicament. Ron had been waiting in her hotel room with an engagement ring while she had been essentially flirting with Snape. The absurdity made her laugh again. Since the ring box was offering no solutions, she decided that it was time to visit Harry before it became too late. At least he would be happy to see her.

>

The day crawling by, Snape passed the time by disposing of what remained of the Fecund. Though he did discard the elixir, he chose to hold onto the plants. It was not against the law to grow the plant, so he would not be going back on his promise by keeping them. What's more, it had taken quite a lot of effort to cultivate them to begin with.

Such a simple brew, Fecund was made from the leaves of the African Trilorian, an herbaceous plant native to Madagascar. When stewed for twenty-four hours, the leaves disintegrated into a dense, amber colored elixir that gave the drinker a sense of limitless mental agility, although this sense was entirely illusory. The intricacy of the elixir was not in the brewing itself, but in the rearing of the plant.

Extremely temperamental, African Trilorian would only grow outside in a tropical climate, where they were in fact quite prolific. Elsewhere, the plants had to be cultivated indoors, a task only the most capable botanist--or potions master--would dare attempt. The temperature, sunlight, soil moisture, and humidity levels had to be near perfect to sustain the plant.

Once every month, the plant would sprout a marvelous midnight blue flower resembling a hyacinth, though without the scent. After the flower reached full bloom, the leaves would be viable for seven days. Gathered and utilized during that time, the leaves would produce Fecund. Otherwise, any elixir that they created would be deadly. The color and odor of the potion would not vary, but the drinker would still be very dead. Fecund had initially named Silent Adder for its speed in dispensing with the ill-fated drinker. Believed to be nothing but a poison, analysis of the plant's true properties did not occur until after a few would-be murderers discovered that the people that they were trying to kill only ended up deliriously happy and self-satisfied.

Snape would have to take the plants with him or else return to a sill full of dead flora. As he carefully prepared each for transport, he checked the clock. It was barely past noon. It had been so long since he had anything to anticipate, anything of this magnitude anyway, that the wait was agonizing.

Walking to the refrigerator, he took out the trusty bottle and poured a glass, optimistic that it would help speed along the remainder of the day. He took a sip, but it wasn't what he wanted. A bit shaky from not eating that day, he opted to wait on the liquor. He still had the menu that the quiet little man had brought with their dinner the night before, so he decided to order some food. Eating was bound to keep him busy for at least an hour.

>

"How are you feeling this evening?" Hermione asked Harry as she peeked around the curtain surrounding his bed at St. Mungo's. Harry was propped up against a mound of pillows, as gaunt and pale as ever.

"Probably better than you," was Harry's raspy reply.

"Are you better today?" asked Hermione hopefully.

Harry gave a laugh that turned into a retching cough. When the coughs abated, he murmured, "You just missed Ron."

"Oh," she said quietly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

"He seemed upset," said Harry faintly.

"Did he?" she laughed softly. "I suppose you want an explanation as well?"

Shaking his head no, Harry grinned. "I told him--" he said before another round of coughs descended upon him. Clearing his throat, he finished, "--told him he was being thick."

Hermione smiled warmly, "Good, he'll listen to you."

Harry looked about to speak again but Hermione stopped him. "Rest Harry, we'll talk more about it later."

Leaning back into the mass of pillows, Harry smiled expectantly.

"I guess Ron told you about Snape?" she asked.

Harry nodded while his grin amplified.

"Did Ron tell you that Snape is going to be here to see you tomorrow?" she asked.

His eyes large, Harry shook his head as the grin faded.

"He's going to try some new treatments," she told him. "I don't know what yet, but I guess we'll both find out tomorrow."

Harry nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, somewhere between dread and excitement.

"You aren't upset that he'll be here, are you?" Hermione prompted.

"No," Harry said in a strained voice. "I want to talk to him."

"Then don't waste your breath on me," she replied.

Harry sat forward, clearly wanting to say more. Placing a hand on his shoulder, Hermione eased him back against the pillows.

"I know you want to say everything that's on your mind," she said with a smile, "but I don't know the spell to put back your lung after you cough it up."

Harry sneered at her before grinning again.

"Get some sleep," she told him as she got to her feet. "Tomorrow is going to be busy, and no doubt very interesting."

"When," Harry wheezed.

"At noon," she answered as the familiar lump climbed into her throat.

"I'll invite Ron," he whispered, smiling mischievously.

"You do that," Hermione smirked, "and I'll have them replace your mashed potatoes with vomit-flavored Bertie Bott's."

Harry grimaced.

"That's what I thought," Hermione gloated before kissing him gently on the cheek. "Now sleep or I'll get that nurse to sit with you who likes to talk about her cats, all fifteen of them."

Quickly throwing back his head, Harry feigned sleep, squinting one eye as he smiled.

"Thank you," she said, smiling and squeezing his hand one last time before leaving the room.

Holding her breath as she walked down the hall, she entered the staffroom and made sure no one was there before allowing the tears to arrive. Everyday Harry was weaker, and everyday the dreams that refused to let her rest were that much closer to validation. She knew that Snape was Harry's final hope, and Snape was her last hope for Harry as well.

>

After twenty minutes that tried his patience and made him seriously question his intelligence, Snape managed to place the order using the payphone. Hermione had made using the phone look so simple, putting in the coins and dialing the number. He had used regular telephones before, but these were ridiculous. After getting nothing but an annoying beeping sound, Snape finally resorted to charming it. He wasn't sure which charm worked, and the phone wouldn't call anywhere except the Chinese restaurant now, but that wasn't Snape's problem.

While he ate his lunch, he chuckled at the fact that he could read people's thoughts when he wanted, make objects float, and conjure things from thin air, but the complexities of a payphone succeeded in baffling him. Hermione would have found that riotously funny, he thought.

At the thought of her, his stomach turned and he pushed away his meal half-eaten. He checked the clock again, but it was barely two in the afternoon. Having already packed and prepared for the trip, there was nothing left to do but wait, and the waiting was again making him dreadfully impatient.

There was nothing for it, he decided, he would travel tonight and then he wouldn't have to fuss with it in the morning. The day would already be well into the evening there, so he would get a room and take a sleeping potion upon arrival so he would be rested in the morning for the meeting.

Content with the plan, Snape hastily collected his things, including the bottle that he charmed to remain cold during the journey, and heavily warded the door before leaving his apartment. He was already standing in the alleyway down the street when he remembered that he hadn't even decided where to Apparate. There was a muggle hostel near The Leaky Cauldron. It was cheap, and there would likely be no wizards staying there with The Leaky Cauldron so nearby. That would be the place to go.

Closing his eyes and bracing himself for the long flight, he pictured the hostel in his mind. A full minute later, Snape arrived with a headache on the dark street directly in front of the hostel. He had aimed for the sidewalk, but the street wasn't bad considering.

After checking in and stowing his things in the room, he was still restless. He thought briefly of changing into robes and visiting Diagon Alley, but the risk of being recognized was too great. He would have to deal with enough stares at the hospital tomorrow as it was. The muggle clothes would lessen the likelihood of anyone bothering him, so he opted for a walk to clear his head before taking the dreamless sleep potion.

When he made his way back onto the street, his headache receding, he could finally appreciate the crisp autumn air and the familiar redolence of the city. Choosing an aimless path, he turned first left and then right, comforted to hear a familiar accent in the conversations of the people that he passed along the way.

He wandered for half an hour before turning back. The walk had served its purpose, taking his mind off Hermione and putting it on Harry. Snape was confident in the course of action he wanted to take with the boy's treatment. The first thing to do was to find out any information that might help him diagnose the spells Voldemort had used. The second was a bit more far reaching, consisting of not screwing this up. He was just moving on to number three--not to disappoint Hermione--when a familiar voice, a voice that made him fail to take his next breath, spoke seven words that he wasn't used to hearing all strung together.

>

After crying for the umpteenth time that day, and sick and tired of doing it, Hermione left the hospital. Opting to walk to pass a little time, she made a direct path to her apartment building. Turning the corner onto her block, she stopped in her tracks, astounded by the man she saw walking toward her in the dim street light. He was staring at the sidewalk, visibly pensive.

"I am so glad to see you," she told him.

The man halted, his head snapping up with an expression that should only follow a poke with a sharp stick.

"Where did you come from?" Snape asked in obvious shock.

"The hospital," she answered. Even through her melancholy, she couldn't help but giggle at his surprise. "You're early. What'd you do, Locate me?"

"No," he replied with consternation. "I elected to travel tonight."

Confused, Hermione motioned to the building on her left, "I live right here. How did you find me then?"

"I went for a walk," he said softly before he smirked, "and we appear to have found each other."

Returning the smirk and thankful for the apparent happy accident, Hermione said, "Lucky us."

Without missing a beat, Snape replied, "You've been hitting that flask again, haven't you."

"After the day I've had, I'm entitled," she said, laughing in spite of her mood. "Do you want to come up for a bit?" The question already asked she realized how casual it sounded. She was relieved to see the smile spreading across his face.

"Do you think that's wise?" he asked with his eyebrows raised. "What if there's a Weasley we're unaware of?"

"I assure you, my flat is a Weasley-free environment at the moment," she answered.

"As long as you're aware of the repercussions," he said.

Unsure whether he had accepted, Hermione waited for him to elaborate. She didn't have to wait long.

"Are you going to lead the way?" he asked in a wry voice. "Or do you live right here on the sidewalk?"

"No," she replied. "I moved inside ages ago. My things kept getting wet whenever it rained."

Hermione could still hear him chuckling as he followed her up the steps. She couldn't tell if the sudden edginess she felt was from having Snape join her in her apartment, or the hope that Ron hadn't decided to drop in again. As she pushed open the door to her flat, she thought it was a bit too late to worry about either now.

>

Shock didn't begin to cover what Snape felt upon seeing Hermione standing before him in the street. Whether luck or fate had guided him there, he wasn't concerned. What concerned him was his happiness upon seeing her. The emotion was strong, and it had been so long out of use that it was disconcerting.

Nonetheless, she clearly wanted his company, so he accepted her invitation in spite of his own misgivings. With any luck, there would be no surprises this time.

"See?" Hermione said as they entered her flat, "no Weasleys."

"You sound relieved," Snape said.

Hermione only smiled as she removed her cloak. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked as she conjured a fire in the hearth.

"Coffee?" he meant to say but ended up asking.

"Sure," she smiled. "I know where I keep my things."

Snape smiled back as he stood in the middle of the tiny room and watched her prepare the kettle.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she asked

Snape realized that he had been standing rather stiff. It was difficult not to when every effort was going into believing their chance reunion. Accepting the hint, he moved toward the sofa, taking the opportunity to appraise her choice of surroundings.

Small was definitely the word to describe her apartment. The living area and kitchen were one room much like his, but it was less than half the size. The sofa sat in front of the tiny fireplace, while the efficiency kitchen took up the other half of the room. He noticed instantly that there were no windows.

Snape sat on the arm of the sofa so that he wouldn't be sitting with his back to her. That sounded like a good excuse, should she ask. He didn't want to admit just yet that he wanted to be able to see her.

When Hermione shut off the bright-white fluorescent lights of the kitchen, the room seemed to shrink under the weak glow of the fire. Snape seated himself on the sofa and took the mug she offered when she passed in front of him.

"They must not pay healers what they used to," Snape said dryly.

"I've lived here ever since graduation," she explained as she sat on the far end of the sofa. "I know it's not much, I've just never gotten around to finding another place."

"You should consider doing so," he advised, "before you develop claustrophobia."

Hermione laughed, but Snape noticed that it wasn't as musical as it had been before. There was something encumbering it, as though it was now trying for her to make the sound. Her hair was beginning to disobey whatever charm she used to keep it smoothed into the ponytail, wisps of curls falling onto her forehead and cheeks. She looked drained, her cheeks pale and her eyes tragically sad behind her rehearsed composure.

"You said you were glad to see me," he said gently. "May I ask why?"

She cleared her throat nervously, running a finger around the rim of her cup before answering, "I spoke with Ron."

Snape understood how that could make a person sad, but he was sure that they would have differing reasons for the sadness. Still, that alone did not explain the trouble he sensed.

"How is Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked. "Still unduly upset, I imagine?"

"Of course," she said softly. "I didn't know what to say to him."

"You did nothing wrong," Snape told her. "It was merely poor timing."

Hermione sighed, "_This_ is why he was there."

Reaching into her pocket, she drew out a small black box and handed it to Snape. He opened it, already sure of what it contained.

"What did you say?" he asked as he handed back the ring.

"Absolutely nothing," she answered. Her voice was delicate when she added, "He didn't so much ask as tell me to choose, whatever the hell that means. He told me that he expected something like this, like I'm some sort of floozy."

"Perhaps that's not what he meant," Snape said, unable to believe that he was defending Weasley.

She laughed wearily, "He accused me of sleeping with you before he said it. I'm fairly certain that's what he meant."

"He will realize his mistake eventually," Snape said, trying to comfort the best he could. "You mustn't blame yourself."

Snape watched as her lips tumbled into a trembling frown.

"I know," she said in a tense voice. She went on in little more than a whisper, "But what if I don't want him to."

"What do you mean?" Snape asked.

She didn't respond, instead shutting her eyes tight. Snape noticed quickly that she wasn't breathing.

Snape set down his cup and slid closer to her, trying to ignore the voice in his head telling him to keep his distance. He placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder to find that she was shaking.

"What are you doing?" he asked softly.

"If I hold my breath," she whispered, "then I won't cry." She choked back a sob, "I'm not going to cry anymore today."

The heartrending sight was producing urges that Snape had disregarded long ago. He felt compelled to take her up in his arms, to soothe away the tears and the worries that she did nothing to earn.

As Snape squeezed her shoulder, Hermione brought her hands up to her face, wiping at her eyes. Quietly, she said, "I was glad to see you because I need to say this out loud."

"Then say it," Snape told her.

She turned her eyes up to his. They were a gleaming, lustrous copper in the firelight.

"I don't want to--" she began hurriedly, her voice strained again. "I don't want to marry Ron. I keep thinking that if Ron is angry with me then it can all be his fault and I won't have to be the one who destroys everything."

She swiftly put both hands over her face, but she wasn't sobbing, nor was she breathing. Tossing aside his reticence, Snape took hold of both her wrists and gently pulled her hands away, inclining his head down to see her eyes while she stared down at her lap.

"You aren't responsible for anyone's happiness but your own," he told her smoothly. "If you spend your life focused on everyone else's happiness you'll never find any for yourself."

"I know you're right," she whispered, "but that doesn't make it any easier."

"Love wouldn't be worth it if it were easy," Snape said softly, leaning in closer to see her face.

"You're just full of advice, aren't you?" Hermione asked, her voice still rough with unreleased emotion, but she was peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. Snape could see an almost undetectable smirk on her lips.

"Then you should cease tormenting yourself before I start quoting Shakespeare," he told her.

Hermione smiled, finally turning to face him. "Thank you," she whispered before pulling her hands from his and throwing her arms around his neck.

Before Snape even considered what he was doing, he wrapped both arms around her and pulled her to him. He smiled when he felt her head resting on his shoulder, thinking how good it felt to be necessary and how lovely it was to hold her while her hair tickled his cheek and her heart rapped against his chest.

Snape sustained the embrace until he heard her breathing become steady. As he tried to pull her away, he recognized quickly that she had fallen asleep, probably exhausted from her emotional turmoil.

"My god, you must be narcoleptic," Snape murmured as he attempted to wake her. However, as he tried to draw away she only tightened her grip on his neck. Unsure what to do, he cradled her in his arms and tried several more times to rouse her unsuccessfully. Before long, his back was staring to ache and he was growing tired himself.

"Have it your way then," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down alongside him on the couch.

It was the most uncomfortable Snape had been in a very long time. The arm of the sofa lacked sufficient padding and his arm that lay under her shoulder was already beginning to tingle. Still, that meant little when compared to the arms around his neck, the vision of the firelight dancing in the auburn curls that drifted across her face, and the svelte curve of her waist against which his right arm was currently resting. The warmth from her body and the fire were quickly lulling him to sleep. He continued to hold her under the pretense of preventing her from falling from the couch. As the last wave of drowsiness swept over him, he wondered if he would ever again be fortunate enough to suffer anything so intimate and still so innocent.


	7. Chapter 7

a/n - Thanks you all for the reviews, they are still fantastic. This is turning out to be longer than I expected. I hope you will all stay with me! Enjoy!

Chapter 7

A loud voice punctuated by a slamming door violently shook Hermione from her slumber. Heart thudding from the harsh awakening, the echo of the door still resonating through the room, she rolled off the couch and scrambled to her feet. In a rush, she threw open the door to the bedroom, which contained the only window with a decent view of the street. Mere seconds passed before, just as Hermione feared, the redheaded form of Ron Weasley descended the steps and stalked down the street toward the Ministry.

Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth as she came to terms with what had happened, and again it was all her fault. Making her way back into the living room, even considering the latest ordeal, she had to grin at what she saw. Snape was sitting up, staring in her direction with one eye still closed, and the other barely squinted.

"What the hell was that all about?" he asked in a thick voice.

Laughing dismally, Hermione crossed the room and plopped down next to him before answering, "It looks like Ron stopped in on his way to class."

Snape's head fell back onto the sofa as he chuckled. "That boy has the most abysmal timing."

"Stop laughing, this is awful," she said, even though she laughed as she said it.

Snape only laughed harder, "It could have been worse."

"And how's that?" Hermione asked through her growing hilarity.

He stopped laughing just long enough to say, "We could have been naked."

That was too much for Hermione. She was laughing so enthusiastically that it was becoming painful. Snape was laughing right along with her, which only incited her that much more.

"Good point," she finally said. "Do you have any idea how we're supposed to explain this one?"

"We don't have to explain anything," he answered with a sigh as he rubbed his eyes. "He's not my boyfriend."

Hermione was giggling again, "I'm serious."

"I know you are," Snape replied. "Perhaps you shouldn't explain at all."

The thought instantly struck Hermione as near brilliance, immediately quelling her laughter. "But if I let him believe this, he'll think I've cheated."

"You and I both know the truth," Snape said with a smirk as he tilted his head toward her.

"What about Harry?" she asked.

"Were you going to adopt him?" Snape countered.

"No," she giggled.

"Then don't concern yourself with him," he answered. "Harry is your friend as well, correct?"

"Yes," she replied.

"Then he will understand whichever rumor you select to tell him," Snape advised. "Now then, are you going to fix coffee or just chatter me to death all morning?"

Laughing, Hermione teased, "I believe you slept on my couch. I'm not obligated to make you anything."

Snape grinned before replying in the most charming baritone, "I don't recall being alone."

His eyes were alert now and gazing right at her, and they were challenging her, whether it was deliberate or not. Those arresting ebony eyes were tempting her, taunting her, and for a second she forgot to breathe.

"I don't recall inviting you to stay," she challenged in a quiet voice.

Smirking, Snape replied as smooth as ever, "I don't recall inviting you to sleep on top of me."

Hermione grinned, knowing that nothing she could say would be true. Instead, she decided to go prepare the coffee, delaying any further comment. Snape's eyes followed her as she passed in front of him, further distracting her from the trouble at hand.

As she set the kettle, she tried to make sense of the jumble of emotions tumbling around inside. She felt terrible for the pain Ron must surely be feeling after seeing her like that, but she didn't feel badly that it occurred. Allowing Ron to believe that she was having an affair with Snape would be simple--solving the problem that had been bothering her for some time--explaining to Harry would be the difficult part. She didn't want to lose either of them as friends, but she couldn't continue seeing Ron when her feelings for him were no longer genuine.

Some time ago, she had stopped seeing him as her lover, though she still cared for him deeply. She didn't want to hurt him, but she wasn't happy any longer, and she was unwilling to become what he wanted, so there was no point in continuing their relationship. Harry complicated all of that. Hermione may have ended things with Ron months before when he had asked her to move in with him. Her doubts about the relationship caused her to make up multiple excuses, none of them valid and all of them dreadfully transparent, hoping that he would take the hint. She had been disappointed when Ron accepted them without question. Hermione wanted the relationship to end naturally, amiably. She didn't want to instigate the parting because that would bring more chaos into Harry's life. Thankfully, Ron would be in class all day, so she would have the opportunity to speak with Harry first this time.

The coffee ready at last, she returned to Snape on the sofa. He was watching her cautiously as she handed him his cup.

"Something just occurred to me," he said slowly. "You don't seem the slightest bit unnerved that we spent the night together."

His directness threw her for a second. "I am…I mean…neither do you," she stammered. "Why didn't you leave?" she asked, attempting to sound curious.

"Because I didn't want to wear you as a necklace," he responded, sipping his coffee but maintaining the shrewd stare. "Do you fall asleep sitting up often?"

Hermione stifled a powerful grin. "No," she giggled. "I don't know what happened." She honestly didn't know what to say.

A knowing smile parted his lips as he asked, "You weren't sleeping, were you?"

"What?" Hermione responded, fully aware of what.

Chuckling, his eyes shot wide open. "You deceived me," he asserted in amused disbelief.

"I did no such thing," Hermione declared calmly as she stood. "If you'll excuse me, I really should get ready for work. I'm almost late as it is."

Snape was still gawking at her with a look of shock and a roguish grin as she hurried past him toward her bedroom, the embarrassment of what she had done starting to sink in.

"I'll see you at the hospital," she said as she reached the door.

When she took hold of the knob, she froze when Snape's hand enclosed hers, and she was acutely aware of him standing directly behind her, quite closely behind though he was only touching her hand.

"You can avoid the subject all you want," he said lowly, his voice very near to her ear. "But let me make one thing perfectly clear." He paused, letting go of her hand, but inclining his head so close that she could feel his breath caress her neck as he spoke his next words very slowly. "Next time, invite me to stay."

The shiver that consumed her triggered a response that frightened and excited her all the same. She turned quickly, clutching the front of his shirt and tugging him closer. He only retained the smirk that he was already wearing. When she saw his eyes, alight with a fervor she had never before seen from any man, she had to remember again what she intended to say.

"You had two choices," she murmured.

"Did I?" he asked, a purr slinking into his voice. "I only saw the one."

After that all Hermione could hear was her pulse rushing in her ears as he took her hands with his and gently removed them from his shirt. His stare was as indecent as it was sexy when he leaned toward her. She closed her eyes, waiting to discover how the man tasted.

She felt his lips, but they brushed her right ear as he whispered, "I have to leave now."

He grazed her cheek with his as he released her hands. By the time she opened her eyes, he was already halfway to the door.

"Hey you, English guy," she said with a smile as she caught her breath.

Snape stopped nearly to the door, but did not turn back to her. "Yes?"

"If you wait for me," she said, "I'll come with you."

Snape chuckled but he still didn't look at her. "That is exactly what I'm afraid will happen if I stay," he said, his voice rich and his tone betraying the smile he was wearing.

Giggling, Hermione grinned, "I meant accompany."

He laughed as he opened the door, finally turning to face her with a sinful smile, "Yes, well I didn't. Good day Miss Granger."

Hermione waited until the door closed before falling against her bedroom door with a sigh. She had never before behaved that way with a man, nor had any man ever spoken to her in that way. His voice that had scared her when she was younger was now a catalyst to unearthly feelings in her body.

Any experience she gained up to the point had been with Viktor and Ron, who seemed very irrelevant now. They were all hands and no couth. In the few brief moments that Snape had stood so close to her, gazing with those beguiling eyes, she had felt more wanted and aroused than she could remember, and he had scarcely touched her.

She hadn't been sure what to do about Ron's proposal until after last night's impetuous stunt. Snape answered her dilemma when he maneuvered her onto the couch next to him. He stayed, and that told her exactly what she wanted to know. If he weren't interested in her, he would have certainly pushed her away. Hermione smiled to herself as she finally entered her bedroom. The things Ron was probably thinking right at that moment weren't so far from the truth after all.

>

Snape Apparated back to the hostel. He would have preferred to walk, but in the muddled state Hermione had put in, he couldn't directly remember the way. When he finally reached the security of his room, he reclined on the bed, a gratified smile on his face.

Hermione Granger wanted him. That information was startling. He had so successfully convinced himself that she would never consider such a thing that he almost hadn't questioned her. He had even felt guilty about causing her more trouble with the Weasley boy. Snape was prepared to play the role of the other man to allow Hermione to end the relationship. However, the prospect of playing the other man in reality was much more enticing.

When Hermione had him by the shirtfront, he thought for sure that she would make the first move. Luckily, she hadn't. If she wanted to toy with him, he could do the same. Now that he didn't have to fight down the desires that he was feeling, his trip was going to be far more interesting.

Once Snape finished reminiscing, it was time to prepare for the meeting. Snape showered and donned a heavy set of black robes. No matter how engaging the situation with Hermione was, Potter would require his full attention. Snape usually had little trouble controlling his concentration when it came to work, but a woman like her had never before occupied his focus so completely, ever since that first night in Mandeville. Potter, Snape reminded himself. Potter was the focus for the time being.

The journey to St. Mungo's was uneventful. The day was glorious, perhaps because Snape was enjoying the sunshine for a change or because he was planning ways to provoke and frustrate Hermione. Snape was a few minutes early when he stepped through the barrier into the lobby of the hospital. He was about to take a seat when he heard his name.

"Severus," Hermione called from the stairs.

Snape smiled to himself. She was going to use his first name then. Resetting his face, he joined her at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Uh," she said in an almost nervous voice, visibly thrown by his presence. "Harry is on the fourth floor."

She stared at him, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. Though he enjoyed watching her restlessness, they really did need to be getting on with Potter if Snape was ever going to get her out of the hospital.

"Would you care to lead the way?" he asked smoothly.

"Of course," she answered.

As they ascended the stairs, Hermione said, "I feel like I should apologize."

"For what?" Snape asked naively, glancing down to catch her eye as they reached the corridor on the fourth floor. "For deceiving me or seducing me?"

When he finished the question, Hermione halted and gazed up at him, wide-eyed and a little slack-jawed. Snape relished her reaction.

"Have we reached Potter's room?" Snape asked, containing his grin.

Hermione nodded slowly.

Snape leaned in a bit closer before saying quietly, "Close your mouth. People are starting to stare."

Snape walked past her into the room, only to give himself a few seconds to smile before he would again have to hitch up his scowl. He did have a reputation after all.

Potter's was a crisp, white private room. There was a partition obscuring Snape's view of the bed and two men chatting nearby. As soon as Snape entered the room, the two men started toward him.

"Severus," he heard Hermione say from his shoulder, "this is James Flannigan." The dark-haired man held out a hand and Snape shook it. "And this is Thalonius Cleary," Hermione added. Snape shook the blond man's hand as well. "Gentlemen, this is Professor…I mean, Severus Snape."

"It's a pleasure to meet you sir," Flannigan gushed.

"We'd like to help in any way that we can," Cleary piped up.

"Thank you," Snape said formally. "Now go away."

Snape brushed past the two men toward the bed.

"Excuse me sir," one of them said impatiently, "but we are the primary healers in charge of Harry's treatment."

Snape was afraid it wouldn't be that simple. He sighed, turning back to the two men. "Though that is fascinating," Snape said coolly, "if you were in any way successful, I wouldn't be here. I will work with Miss Granger and Miss Granger alone. If you are to assist in anyway, it will be by staying out of my way and not questioning any decisions that I make concerning Mr. Potter's care."

The two men stared blankly at him while Hermione held a hand over her mouth doing a very poor job of hiding her smile.

"Is that clear?" Snape asked firmly.

"Yes sir," the blond one said, whatever his name was.

They swept quickly from the room and Snape allowed his smirk to show.

"That wasn't very nice," Hermione said lightly. "I bet they won't come back at all now."

"Good," Snape said before turning back to the bed.

When he passed the partition, he was wholly unprepared for what he saw. Hermione certainly hadn't exaggerated Potter's condition. He was nothing more than skin draped over bone, his cheekbones protruded severely and his complexion had no color whatsoever. The only aspects of his appearance separating him from a corpse were the vibrant green eyes that were now resting upon Snape, who was struggling not to display his shock.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, glad to hear that his voice was steady. "I see that you've been dieting."

Potter smiled and extended a boney hand. When Snape shook it, he couldn't help noting the unsettling resemblance to Voldemort.

"I'm--" Harry started before a hacking cough took over.

"Don't attempt to speak anymore," Snape said as he let go of Harry's hand. "You will write down whatever it is you feel the need to say from now on. Every time that you speak you are further damaging your lungs, making my task that much more difficult."

Harry nodded as the fit ended.

"Miss Granger relayed your apology," Snape told him quickly. "There will be no need to reiterate it. I do want to remind you that I am in charge of your care now. You are not to take any potions or other treatments unless administered by Miss Granger or myself."

Again, Harry nodded.

Snape went on, "Miss Granger also said that you remember nothing significant from your fight with Voldemort. Is that correct?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"In that case," Snape continued, "I will need to see if there is anything in your memory that I may recognize."

Just then, Hermione put a hand on Snape's arm as she asked, "You're going to us Legilimency? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"His illness is of the body, not the mind," Snape explained. "He will be fine."

Hermione still looked apprehensive, but she returned to her post at the foot of the bed. Snape returned his attention to Harry.

"I need you to think about the battle," Snape said. "Go back to the very start of your confrontation with Voldemort. In all likelihood, he struck you with something nonverbal and I don't want to spend the entire day rooting around in your head."

Harry nodded again, closing his eyes.

"Are you ready?" Snape asked.

As Harry opened his eyes, he nodded once.

Snape disregarded his wand. Over the years, he had become quiet adept at the nonverbal incantation without his wand on people who were in a weakened state or not employing Occlumency. As soon as he met Harry's eyes, Snape was viewing the battle from Harry's perspective. Voldemort had his wand raised. Harry was terrified, concerned for his friends, and eager to finish off Voldemort so that he could commence with killing Snape. A jet of scarlet light came from Voldemort's wand and struck Harry in the side. It was definitely not a stunner. The pain was excruciating, but Harry pushed through it. He sent several curses at Voldemort before a cloud of black mist surrounded Harry's head. The mist was burning his mouth and nose. He shut his eyes tight against the unknown substance. Finding the sense to run, Harry collapsed to the ground a few yards away. Voldemort strode arrogantly to Harry's side, standing over him and launching into some inane speech. Voldemort lowered his wand for just a moment and Harry seized the opportunity. He performed a nonverbal killing curse, which Snape found to be extremely impressive. Caught off guard, the curse struck Voldemort squarely in the chest and he most likely didn't know what hit him. Having seen enough, Snape retreated from Harry's mind.

Harry was flailing his right hand in the air. Hermione advanced with a piece of parchment and quill, handing them to Harry. Immediately, he started scribbling and then held the parchment out to Snape.

Snape took it and read, "Do you know what those spells were? I'm sorry I wanted to kill you."

Snape sighed before saying, "I have all the information that I need to begin. And I thought we already covered that last bit."

Harry snatched back the parchment, writing more, and handing it back.

Snape read the added note, "You aren't going to hold it against me, are you?"

Chuckling softly, Snape recognized that Harry was kidding. "No," Snape answered, "I'm not going to let you die because you wanted to murder me."

Harry smiled and glanced at Hermione who was still hovering at the foot of the bed.

"I need to speak with Miss Granger," Snape said. Before he walked away, Snape added lowly, "You did well Potter."

Hermione eagerly followed Snape into the hall.

"Is there somewhere we can speak privately?" he asked. Hermione led him into the empty room across from Harry's. "Sit down," Snape told her as soon as they were inside.

"Why?" she asked, visibly alarmed. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"Not necessarily," he said gently. "Just sit."

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and Snape pulled up a small chair in front of her.

"His muscles were affected by a curse derived from an ancient Druid healing spell. As luck would have it, I was forced to develop an antidote some time ago." Hermione eyed him questioningly. Before she could comment, Snape added, "When Voldemort was testing the modified curse, he accidentally struck Lucius with it."

Laughing quietly, Hermione said, "That's a shame."

"Yes," Snape chuckled. "I found it quite entertaining myself." Sobering quickly, he went on, "Potter's lungs are another matter entirely. That was another of Voldemort's own design, and I have no idea how to counter its affects."

Her head falling, Hermione lifted both hands to her face. She was holding her breath again. Snape took her hands and pulled them away.

"Although that is because I have never tried," Snape explained. "By the end of the day, we will have solved half the problem. The other half will be more complicated."

"But you can help him?' she asked hopefully. Her eyes were imploring him.

"I make no promises," he replied honestly. "But I will do my best."

"That's all I need to hear," she said, putting her arms swiftly around his neck.

Smiling, Snape returned the embrace and asked, "Is this one of those contractually obligated hugs?"

"No," she answered with a giggle.

"Then don't go dozing off," he replied dryly.

She giggled again just as Snape heard the door open.

"Can't you two keep your hands off each other?" Mr. Weasley had apparently found his way to the hospital.

Snape pulled Hermione away and stood, turning toward the nuisance. Fed up, Snape asked, "Do you have some kind of bloody radar?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Ron asked, visibly taken back.

Snape sighed before answering harshly, "You have a singular gift for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Aren't you supposed to be in class?" Hermione interjected.

"Aren't you supposed to be my girlfriend?" Ron sneered.

Snape looked from the flustered Hermione to the livid Ron. "Weasley," Snape commanded, "come here."

"You can't order me around," Ron replied with indignation.

"Come here before I make you," Snape elaborated threateningly.

With all the caution of a man approaching a vicious snake, Ron joined them next to the bed.

"You both have some things to discuss," Snape said forcefully, turning to Hermione with a softer tone. "Would you prefer that I stay?"

She shook her head, staring dubiously at Ron.

"Then I have a potion to brew," Snape said, glaring at Ron. "Watch yourself Weasley. One of you I happen to give a damn about."

After saying his piece, Snape left the room to wander the hall in search of anyone to direct him to the potions lab. Gnashing his teeth as he paced, Snape was hopeful that Weasley would take his warning seriously. Still, Snape knew that he was only thinking of the boy to distract himself from the circumstances. Evaste Spiritus--the black mist--was the one curse that he wished not to see. That curse would be as easy to treat as the affects of Avada Kedavra, and if Snape knew how to do that, he could have saved a small fortune on bourbon.


	8. Chapter 8

A/n - Reviews are still fabulous! Here is another long bit of the story. I tried to cut it, but I didn't want to break up the perspective. Hope you enjoy! cue maniacal writer laughter Ahem, sorry. Another conversation laden chapter, though with many emotions. Oh no, I've already said too much!

Chapter 8

"What do you mean you're in love with Snape?" Ron yelled.

This was turning out to be harder than Hermione thought. As Ron's face turned a nauseating shade of red, she gulped at the rising regret and empathy. A tiny part of her wanted to take it all back, if only to stop torturing him. The larger potion was resolute to press forward and make a clean break.

"When I was at his apartment…one thing led to another," she grimaced as she spoke. Everything she was saying sounded so horribly cliché. "You were right all along. It's better if we just…end this now."

"How can you say that?" Ron asked, incredulous. "I was happy until all this stuff with Snape."

"I wasn't," she replied, glad to be finally on honest ground. "I don't want to be a wife, Ron. Of all the things I can do, I can't magically turn into someone else."

"How can you do this?" Ron asked, tears welling in his eyes. "What about Harry?"

"He's not our child," Hermione stated firmly. "He has nothing to do with this."

No matter how glad Hermione was that this was finally happening, she couldn't ignore the heaviness in her chest or the sick feeling in her stomach. She had loved Ron once, very much so, and causing him pain was something that she never wanted to do, even if it was for the best.

"So it's over…just like that," said Ron, his face suddenly terribly pale. "After three years?"

"I'm sorry," she answered, surprised by her lack of tears.

"I love you, don't you know that?" he asked softly.

"I do," said Hermione as that familiar lump rose again in her throat. Her voice was terribly strained, "I still love you…in a way…but that's not enough. You deserve something that I can't give you."

Hermione hugged him, his body falling against her, and the tears came rushing in at last. She was going to miss him.

"I'll tell Harry," Hermione said as she drew away, wiping at her face. "I'll tell him that you'll visit him tonight, like always."

Ron nodded, rubbing his face with his sleeve as he stumped from the room.

Hermione could hardly believe that it was finished. It was over. The sick feeling in her stomach magnified as the full measure of what she had just done sank in. However, she had grieved for their relationship long ago, and now was not the time to feel sorry. Ron was her first in so many ways and it was hard to see the end, but the prospect of a new beginning on the horizon lifted her spirits.

She swallowed hard, bracing herself for Harry's reaction, before crossing the hall to his room, where she found him sitting up, reading a newspaper. "Harry," she said as she approached the bed, "I need to talk to you."

When he lowered the paper, he looked instantly worried. It was impossible not to notice that she'd been crying. Harry was groping for the parchment when Hermione hurriedly said, "I broke up with Ron."

Harry sighed, taking parchment and quill and jotting a quick note that Hermione could read from the side of the bed. "It's about time."

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

Shaking his head, Harry wrote, "I'm sorry, but you've been unhappy for ages. It had to happen sooner or later."

"You should have mentioned that a long time ago," Hermione said with a weak smile.

Harry just returned the smile and nodded.

"Oh god," Hermione exclaimed causing Harry to flinch. "I almost forgot. Snape identified the curses. He says that he can make an antidote for one of them immediately, the one that's damaged your muscles. He's working on it now."

His eyes wide, Harry scribbled, "What about my breathing?"

"He said that's going to take some work," she answered. "But when you're strong again, the coughing won't be so bad anymore."

Harry smiled the first real smile that she had seen on his face in a very long time. Suddenly, he started writing again. "Thank you Hermione."

"You're welcome," she said as she hugged him gently. She could have hugged every stranger on the street after seeing Harry truly happy. As she released him, she said, "I should go see where Snape has gotten himself to."

Again, Harry started writing, "What happened to Severus?"

Grinning, Hermione had forgotten that she had said that in the room. "That's a story for another time," she replied simply.

Harry gave her a shrewd smirk before scrawling, "Ron will be fine."

She only nodded before saying, "He'll be to see you tonight. You should get to work writing down everything that he'll need to hear."

Harry cocked his head to one side with a smile.

"Or read," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "You know what I meant."

Harry was still grinning at her when she left the room. As she traversed the hall, she still felt dizzy and a little nauseous. Assuming that Snape had found the potions lab, she headed in that direction. That lab was always full of people, she thought with a smirk. Snape was probably having a ball. Peeking inside the door, she was astonished to find the room deserted. She smiled when Snape's annoyed voice met her ear.

"These asinine people don't have any soma. What kind of morons do they have working here?"

Silently making her way to the door, Hermione said, "Are you lumping me in with the morons?"

Snape jumped, dropping the bottle of newt's eyes he was holding.

"Judas woman," he admonished deeply, "don't do that." As he repaired the bottle, he added, "That's why I told everyone to leave."

Hermione grinned, "Because they snuck up on you in the closet?"

Snape looked to be trying to repress a smile but gave in, saying, "No, they were bothering me…by talking loudly."

"Is that a crime now?" Hermione laughed.

"It is when I'm working," he replied.

Hermione glanced to her right, laughing at what she found. "Here," she said, taking the jar of soma from the shelf. "I guess you just needed a lower eye level."

Chuckling, Snape replied, "Or someone short." The smile fell from his face before asking, "Did you succeed in letting Mr. Weasley down easily?"

"I wouldn't use the word easy," Hermione said wearily. Smirking suddenly, she said, "Before I forget, which one of us is it that you give a damn about?"

"You have a fifty percent chance of guessing correctly on the first try," he responded before turning away and resuming his perusal of the shelves.

"Ron sure is lucky," Hermione said, smiling at Snape's deep chuckle. "Well, I have patients to see. I really should go if you don't need me."

"I'm fine for now," he replied, his voice unreadable.

"Well then," she said, "I'll leave you to your work."

"The potion will be ready later this afternoon," added Snape.

"Good," she said as she turned toward the door. "Then I'll see you later."

"Definitely," he replied--his voice suddenly nothing but velvet.

Clearing her throat and smiling, Hermione left the potions lab. His voice speaking that one word was enough to make her think forbidden thoughts. Although, she quickly reminded herself, they weren't forbidden anymore. As she commenced her rounds, she began to view her leap of faith in seeking out Snape as more of a stroke of genius.

>

As the day wore into afternoon, Snape had located all the ingredients for the antidote and was waiting rather impatiently for it to turn a brassy yellow. A watched potion never turns he thought, walking to the window to watch the street below.

The notion of Hermione's temptation was beginning to trouble him. He was a man--that was certain. And she was clearly a woman now--that information was dreadfully clear after having spent the night with her breasts pressed against him--but one question kept floating across his otherwise methodical mind. What did she want with him? Was she genuinely interested in him, or was she using him to escape from Weasley? It was best not to question it, Snape decided, just benefit from it until she inevitably came to her senses.

More problematic was her damned cleverness. It was utterly too sexy to stand and it made him look upon her differently. It had been entirely too long since he had flirted with a woman and she was fascinating him on a more profound level than any woman had ever voyaged, and he knew quite well that an emotional attachment would only get him into trouble. Again, he chose to put off those thoughts and enjoy the present. After all, he might never again have the good fortune of pleasant company, especially with such a pleasant woman. If prison had taught him one thing, it was to appreciate what was and not question it, aloud anyway.

Checking the potion, he found that it had matured while he mused. Siphoning a glass full, he departed for Potter's room only to find him napping. Gently, Snape shook the boy awake.

As soon as Harry's eyes opened, Snape said, "Drink this. It tastes worse than it looks, but it will immediately stop the deterioration of your muscles."

Harry took the glass and gulped a few times before stopping, his eyes beginning to water.

"Delicious, isn't it," Snape said sarcastically. "It will also make you quite drowsy. We will begin the regeneration process tomorrow after you have gotten a full night's rest."

Finishing the glass, Harry had hardly set it on the bedside table before he was asleep, dangling halfway off the bed. Chuckling softly, Snape repositioned Harry and pulled the covers over him. Turning to leave, Snape discovered Hermione watching from the doorway.

"You've turned into a regular medi-wizard," she said with a smirk as he met her at the door.

"All thanks to you," he replied rather sarcastically.

"My shift is almost finished," she said in a casual voice. "If you're hungry, we could get something."

Quickly reminded that he had forgotten to eat in all the excitement of the day, Snape found that he was starving.

"Lead on," he told her, gratified by the relief in her eyes as much as her satisfied grin.

Snape followed her to the staffroom where she collected her cloak and then down the steps and into the amber light of the sunset.

"Do you know where you want to go?" Hermione asked as they stepped outside.

"I believe you're the choosy one," Snape replied.

"I forgot," she giggled. "There's a Vietnamese place a little east of here."

Appalled by her choice, Snape asked, "You won't eat Cajun food, but you'll eat that rubbish?"

Laughing, Hermione said, "So I'm not the only picky one."

Snape gave her a sardonic smile before saying, "There is a small wizarding bar that serves very good Italian. Do you have anything against Italian food?"

"Not yet," Hermione answered dryly.

Chuckling, Snape said, "It's this way, if you think your tiny legs can keep up."

Hermione laughed quietly as they began walking down the street.

"How does it feel to be single again?" Snape asked after a few blocks.

"Strange really," Hermione answered with a sigh. "That reminds me, I can't believe you stuck us in that room together."

"It seemed like an opportune time," Snape laughed softly. "This is our stop," he said, halting as they reached the restaurant. He waited patiently, anticipating Hermione's reaction.

"Here?" she asked skeptically. "In an old warehouse?"

Snape smiled, "Yes." As soon as he opened the door, the sounds of the crown inside filtered into the night air, "After you."

Hesitantly, Hermione entered in front of him. Apparently disoriented, she stopped just inside the door. Snape placed a hand on her back, smiling at her twitch of surprise, and directed her through a narrow doorway into the seating area. Furnished with small, round tables, each topped with a red and black checkered tablecloth and a single unlit candle, the lounge was humid and rather dark. Snape chose a table close to the door and sat to Hermione's right. As they took their seats, the candle burst to life, causing Hermione to flinch.

"Why did it do that?" she asked.

"So that they'll know we're here."

Just then, a skinny man in a stained, grey apron arrived at their table.

"Good evening," he said cheerily. "Our specials this evening--"

Snape swiftly interrupted, "We would like a large order of lasagna and a bottle of pinot noir. The brand doesn't matter as long as it is very cold."

"Right away sir," the waiter chirped before leaving.

"How do you know I like lasagna?" asked Hermione.

Snape chuckled, "If you don't, I suggest acquiring an affinity for it. When I said very good Italian, I meant very good lasagna."

"Then you're in luck," she replied with a smirk. "I just happen to like it."

The waiter returned promptly with the wine, adequately chilled. The conversation started out simply as Hermione described some of her patients from the day. Snape stopped her in the middle of a rather grotesque story concerning an unfortunate man and a run in with a set of bewitched hedge clippers.

"Perhaps you could save that one for after the meal," he advised before she plowed right on into the next tale.

By the time she ran out of patients, their food had arrived. Snape had nearly forgotten how hungry he was until the scent of the rich sauce reached him. He took a generous serving before passing the platter to Hermione, who also took quite a large piece. He had to chuckle as she again ravenously attacked her dinner.

"What?" she asked.

"It's not going to run away if you don't finish it immediately," Snape replied, still laughing.

"What if it did?" she contested. "What would you say then?"

Laughing, he answered, "I would say that we're both going to have food poisoning."

Hermione choked on the sip of wine that she was taking. Giggling, she wiped her mouth with a napkin while Snape regarded her in the candle light. Her skin was a dusky peach in the muted glow of the room, making the copper in her eyes much more distinct. Hair pulled into a loose knot at the base of her neck, he could see the creamy skin in that heavenly dip where neck turns to shoulder. Her lips, curved into a content smirk, held a tiny bit of sauce at the corner.

"I can't take you anywhere without you wearing the food," he teased as he reached out to wipe away the offending bit.

As he did so, his knuckles grazed her cheek. The soft skin was superb, as was her return. Tilting her head, she skimmed her cheek against his fingers. Snape held the touch as she rubbed her skin again his and met his eyes. The want staring back at him was powerful, causing another long-overlooked response below his belt. Startled, but ever so intrigued, Snape drew his hand away leisurely.

"I believe I got it," he said lowly, hearing the slight waver in his voice.

"Thank you," she breathed, clearing her throat before gesturing to her plate. "This really is very good."

"Yes," Snape smirked, "very good." However, he definitely wasn't referring to the meal.

Without fail, just as he expected, Hermione succeeded in steering the conversation to literature. Her breadth of knowledge on the subject didn't fail to impress him either. Not only had she read quite a lot of modern work, her understanding of the classics rivaled his own.

They finished their meal and had almost finished the wine when Hermione stated quite matter-of-factly, "Jane Eyre is one of the best novels ever written."

His elbow on the table and his head reclining on a fist, Snape teased, "I would expect a woman to say that."

"No really," she said. "Sure, it gets a little slow toward the middle, but come on. He kept his crazy wife in the attic. That's priceless, especially for the time that it was written." She paused, raising an eyebrow as she asked, "You don't have a crazy wife in your attic, do you?"

Laughing at the absurdity of the notion, Snape replied, "A few skeletons and sordid past perhaps, but no wife."

She was giggling as she checked her watch. "Oh dear, it's nearly eleven."

"I know," Snape said with a smile. "I told you that ten minutes ago before you went off on your Bronte expedition."

"Oh," she replied sheepishly, her grin giving away her amusement.

They stood from the table and Snape began ushering her toward the door.

"Shouldn't we pay first?" Hermione protested as they passed through the bar.

Just as Snape feared, the pudgy man behind the counter spotted them, calling out, "It's good to see you again Snape. You and your lady friend have a fine evening." This was exactly what Snape was trying to avoid.

"Thank you Andrew," Snape replied. "The meal was delicious." He quickly directed Hermione out the door.

As they headed down the sidewalk, Hermione asked, "What was that all about?"

Seeing no way to avoid the details, he reluctantly explained, "Almost five years ago now, Andrew's son Seth became a Death Eater. Albus and I helped Seth fake his death to avoid retaliation when he decided he wanted out."

Hermione stopped abruptly, the street too dark for Snape to see her expression. "Were you successful?" she asked.

"Our food was free, wasn't it?" he replied, replacing his hand on her back and urging her to walk. He still didn't like discussing Dumbledore.

They had only made it a few steps when she halted again. The nearby streetlight cast a shadow across the very uncompromising look on her face.

"You know," she said with conviction, "you can pretend that you aren't a good person, but you made the mistake of proving to me that you are." She took a step closer to him, staring up with resolution as she continued. "You can be as elusive as you want with everyone else as long as you understand that I know the truth."

Quickly, she began walking again, leaving Snape staring after her. A few strides and he had closed the distance, glancing down every now and again to see the same stubborn look on her face. He couldn't understand what he had done to provoke her, though she didn't seem angry. What she said was actually quite significant to Snape. He couldn't recall anyone having referred to him as a 'good person' since Dumbledore.

The reminder of the journey to Hermione's building passed in silence. When they arrived at her step, she turned to him, her expression softened.

"Look," she said, "sometimes what I'm thinking just comes out and then I feel stupid for having said it. I don't need to feel stupid, do I?"

"Not at all," Snape replied, still confused yet relieved that she wasn't upset.

"Good," she said, perking up a bit. "Do you want to…no…you probably don't…it's late."

Chuckling, he answered, "One cup and then I must go."

Smiling, Hermione led the way to her apartment. As soon as they entered, she removed her cloak and went straight to preparing the kettle. Snape cast a fire in the hearth before taking up his seat on the arm of the sofa where he studied her, thinking all the while about what she had said. It wasn't long before she headed toward the couch with two cups, reminding Snape forcefully of the previous night and just how much had changed in that short time.

As he joined her on the sofa, he noted that she was gazing at the fire and didn't look about to speak.

Choosing his words carefully, Snape said, "If you don't mind me asking, what exactly was the inspiration for your declaration a little while ago?"

She sighed and set her cup on the table, prompting Snape to do the same since what she had to say was apparently very important. Snape wanted immensely to hear the explanation.

She wiped her hands on her lap nervously and gave him a fleeting glance before pulling her legs up and kneeling on the couch to face him. Snape shifted toward her and put his arm across the back of the sofa to show his undivided attention. Looking more timid than he had seen her since her school days, she rubbed her hands on her thighs again before she started to laugh.

"I don't know how to do this," she giggled.

Mystified, Snape asked softly, "Do what? You clearly haven't forgotten how to talk."

She gave a faint laugh, "It's that…I don't want to hear you tell me how horrible you are or how sordid your past is after…" Her voice faded in another giggle.

Thoroughly engrossed, Snape watched her eyes dart anxiously before again meeting his. He was beginning to become concerned, "After what?"

She placed her hand on his forearm that lay across the sofa, "After I…"

Sliding her hand little by little up his arm, she suitably answered his question. Tickling the receptive skin at his collar, she pressed her fingertips into the tense muscles at the back of his neck, sending a delightful twinge down his back. She was advancing toward him and her eyes looked doubtful, though somehow inspired. As she trailed her fingers along the side of his neck, he sighed as the sensation washed over him, paralyzed by the touch and distracted by the same stirring he had felt at dinner.

"I know who you are," she whispered, putting her other hand gently on his knee and sliding it slowly up to his thigh, "even if you don't."

Her eyes held all of the desire that he had seen earlier and a playful spark. As the hand on his thigh resumed its ascent and the hand on his neck slid down to his chest, he seized both, educing a startled gasp from Hermione.

"That's good to know," he sighed, looking past the whys and wherefores, releasing her hands and instead seizing her waist. He pulled her to him, lying back and she acquiesced, sliding her body to meet his. As they came to rest, her atop of him, he pressed his lips to hers. As the warmth of the lyrical kiss spread through his body and her hand reclaimed its station at his neck, he was ever so glad to be alive. The heavenly burden of her body and the unbelievable softness of her lips were magnificent, challenging his every effort to keep his hands at the small of her back, lest she see anything else as offensive. He was going to let her set the pace from here.

Tumbling down his jaw, her lips found his neck, biting lightly before resuming the thrilling kisses. Snape gasped as she nipped again a bit harder before moving up to his ear. As she took the lobe in her mouth, he moaned, unable to keep still any longer. He left one hand to rest on her back while the other traveled to her bottom. As his hand reached its destination, she pulled away, causing Snape to fear he had offended her. When he opened his eyes however, he found her opulent gaze had not wavered, though she was unbuttoning her robe. He watched her intently as each button revealed more of the white shirt underneath. Snape tentatively began unfastening the bottom buttons, which must have inspiring her to shift her attention to the undershirt. By the time he had finished with the robe, she was already half finished with the shirt, her rose-colored brassiere on display at her breastbone.

His breathing distressingly shallow, Snape looked on in awe as she pulled the shirt from the waist of her skirt and dispatched with the mess of fabric, revealing the rounded, pert breasts still held captive by their satin prison.

He had been ever so right. Robes did her absolutely no justice. Graceful and lean, her youthful body was stunning. Overcome with want, he dragged his fingers across her waist and up her belly, glorying in the toss of her head as she struggled to catch her breath. Taking hold of her sides, he guided her back down onto him, moaning as her thigh swept across his unmistakable arousal. He kissed her hard, rewarded agreeably with her tongue. Sinking deeper into the blissful concourse, he slid both hands to her bottom, pressing her against him. She shifted her hips in reply, inciting him to thrust against her.

A strident knock at the door jarred them both. Snape was struggling to order his thoughts as Hermione put her hands to his chest and sat up quickly, looking toward the door. The knock sounded again, more insistently this time.

"So help me," Snape whispered, "if that's Weasley I'm going to kill him."

"Shh," Hermione replied, putting her hand over his mouth.

"Hermione?" Ron's muffled voice came through the door. "I know you're in there. I saw you come home…with _him_."

"He's drunk," Hermione whispered.

"Is he still in there with you?" Ron called.

"What should I do?" asked Hermione quietly.

"Let me kill him," Snape answered, though it was entirely unintelligible through her hand.

Ron knocked again. "If you don't answer me, I'm coming inside."

"Let me kill him," Snape tried to say again, still muffled by her makeshift gag.

"Come on," Hermione whispered, climbing to her feet and grabbing his hand. He followed her into a pitch-black room and shut the door. "Damn," she breathed, "my wand's in my robe."

"Allow me," Snape replied, taking his wand and sealing the door a few more times than was entirely necessary.

Standing behind Hermione at the doorway, Snape heard the apartment door open.

"Hermione?" Ron called again.

"Ron," Hermione shouted to him in what must have been her best impression of a sleepy voice. "I'm in bed. Go home."

"Is he in there with you?" Ron asked loudly.

In the darkness, there was no way for Hermione to appreciate the smug nod that Snape gave the door.

"No," she answered. "Now go home."

"I want to talk," Ron protested.

"Let me kill him," Snape breathed in her ear only to receive a sharp elbow to the ribs. He had to put a hand over his mouth to muffle his surprise.

"Not tonight," Hermione responded steadfastly through the door. "You need to go to bed and sleep this off. Please go home."

"Fine," came Ron's dejected reply, "but this isn't over."

"Just go home Ron," she said, her voice strict. "We'll talk when you're sober."

"This isn't over," Ron repeated before his footsteps retreated and Snape heard the click of the latch.

"Well," Snape said slowly, "that was awkward."

Hermione sighed deeply. "Do you ever feel that no matter what you do, it's the wrong thing?"

He chuckled, "All the time. Do you remember who I am?"

She laughed softly before saying, "I never meant to hurt him." Snape could hear the anxiety in her voice. "Was I supposed to pretend for the rest of my life, merrily skipping along praying someday I'd be happy?" Her voice was steadily getting louder. "Why does this have to be so damn hard?"

In the darkness with her back to him, Snape was at a loss. He wished that he could see her face, his anger at the interruption replaced by unease. He wanted to try to reassure her, but as she was half-naked, that seemed wholly inappropriate.

"When you're born, they should give you a pamphlet detailing all the situations you should avoid in life," she went on as she flipped the light switch.

Snape squinted against the sudden brightness. He watched her walk from the door to the closet and pull out a robe, wrapping it around herself before traveling to the bed.

As she crossed the room she said, "Number one should be shun relationships with other people at all costs, the subtext being that relationships are without doubt a pain in the ass."

"I'm glad we're on the same page with that line of thinking," Snape replied, still hovering near the door.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione looked up with an apologetic smile, "I'm only venting." She laughed softly, "And I seem to have chosen the most inopportune time to do so, seeing as I finally managed to get you into my bedroom."

Chuckling, Snape asked, "Weasley's ambush was another elaborate ruse, was it?"

"I wish," she giggled. "I'm sorry I dragged you in here. I didn't want to rub it in, you know. I shouldn't have lied to him…about what happened between us, I mean."

"It's not so much a lie now, although the chronology is a bit off," Snape suggested, crossing the room and sitting next to her on the bed.

"Oh no," she sighed. "Don't think for a second that I regret…well…"

"Throwing yourself at me?" Snape finished for her, hoping to inject some levity.

"I did not," she protested with a laugh.

Snape chuckled again, "Call it what you will."

He smiled at her, wondering whether he should excuse himself or wait for her to finish with him. With the mood sufficiently ruined, she would probably much rather be alone.

Hermione smiled back, "You must want to get back to your room."

"It is getting late," he replied, unable to ignore the building tension.

"What would you say if I asked you to stay with me again?" she asked innocently, her eyes beseeching him.

"I would say that I'm wasting your money on that room," he answered.

She giggled, "That's what it's for."

"Then I would say all right," he said quietly, unsure why he indulging, thinking that it would be in his best interest to distance himself.

"Then I'll be right back," she said, standing and going through a very narrow door that Snape thought led to another closet, though it turned out to be the bathroom.

Snape stood as well, removing his shoes and robe. He wasn't going to sleep entirely clothed this time. He also opted to leave the bedroom door sealed until Hermione said otherwise, just in case Weasley chose to make another unscheduled visit. Unsure where she intended him to sleep, he awaited her return.

Scanning the tiny room, he found the books that he thought had been glaringly absent from the rest of the apartment. They sat stacked along almost every wall. The bed took up most of the room so there was really no room for cases. Thankfully, there was one window, a minuscule one at that, through which he could see the clear night sky.

Snape was gazing through it when Hermione returned, clad in a long t-shirt and little else. He didn't have much time to benefit from the sight as she switched off the light, casting the room again into blackness. Blinded yet again, Snape was relieved when Hermione took his hand and led him to the bed, answering his quandary about sleeping arrangements. As he laid down, his hands behind his head in an attempt to remain relaxed both in mind and body, Hermione crawled under the covers next to him, resting her head on his chest.

"Don't you want to get under the blankets?" she asked just as he closed his eyes.

"If I do," he replied sincerely, "neither one of us will sleep."

"Oh my," she said softly, "your voice is even better down here."

He grinned as her head left his chest and he felt her moving about. Suddenly, he felt her lips on his and he drank in the tender kiss. As she kissed him, he was blissfully unaware that she had unbuttoned his shirt until he felt it tugged from his waistband.

"What are you doing to me?" he breathed when her hand went wandering on his bare chest.

"It only seems fair," she replied in a whisper. He could hear the smile in her voice as she ran her hand across his chest again, finally pausing on his side before again resting her head on his chest. "You're heart is throbbing like mad."

"Go to sleep," he whispered, thinking that his heart wasn't the only thing throbbing again.

"Goodnight," she murmured.

"Goodnight Hermione," he replied softly.

More comfortable than he had been in years, Snape lie awake for a long while, listening to Hermione breathe and waiting for her eyelashes to cease batting against his skin. He contemplated how he had managed to permit her to over run his mind. Had he been that lonely when she showed up that he latched onto her? Nevertheless, the fact that he hadn't touched the bottle of bourbon since arriving and that he had eaten an entire meal without becoming queasy led him to believe otherwise.

And why was he allowing her to make him do things that he had never done? This would make the second time that he slept next to a woman without having fulfilled some carnal need or another. She was affecting him--that was the only word he could think of to suffice--or was she merely distracting him. None of that would matter if she went back to that boy.

Eventually, she dozed off and he stopped worrying about her dealings with Weasley. If she did change her mind, it wouldn't be unexpected, though it would be disheartening. Flirtation--and probably even sex--he could handle with grace, but his respect for her was transmuting rapidly into fondness, and _that _was bothersome, given that he had already had enough of being disappointed for one lifetime.


	9. Chapter 9

a/n - Another long one…hope you don't mind. This took longer than I thought, so I'm giving myself a week for the next installment. Hope you don't mind that either. Thank you all again for the reviews! They are great! Please enjoy.

Chapter 9

The cathedral was brimming with mourners. Ginny Weasley was still weeping at Harry's side while he lay in state when Hermione finally woke. As she calmed herself--fighting off the anguish that always felt so real in that panic between awake and asleep--a hand brushed her hair back from the side of her face.

"Are you all right?" Snape asked very quietly, sitting up beside her.

"Fine," she replied, the emotion receding. She sat up, propping herself against the headboard next to him. He looked worried--or angry--she couldn't tell.

"That must be one hell of a nightmare," he said, sincerity etched on his face.

"It's not that bad," she answered, cracking a feeble smile

"You were sobbing," he replied. "Was it about Weasley?"

"No," she said, unaware the sobbing translated into reality. "Harry."

"I see," he answered softly. "It is strange how our minds choose to torture us even when we sleep."

"You sound like you speak from experience," she replied.

"I have had my share of nightmares."

Asking for no details or explanations, his barefaced understanding consoled her far more than his words. She hugged him, pressing her face against his solid chest. His scent, a heavenly musk unlike anything she had ever experienced, eased the tension still lingering from the dream.

Snape's arms encircled her while he chuckled, "I didn't say that for a pity hug."

Hermione giggled, "It's not pity you idiot. I'm glad you're here."

"Don't say that," he laughed. "Weasley might come bursting through the door."

Laughter loosening the knot of anxiety even more, Hermione looked up into the face of the man holding her. Those shadowy ebony eyes were there staring back, the corners wrinkled slightly as he smiled, lulling her away from the memory of the dream.

"Could I offer you some coffee?" she asked, waiting for his patent cynicism.

"Actually," he said quietly, "I should go. There are plants I have been neglecting and some of them require tending at dawn."

"Dawn?" she asked, unaware of the early hour.

"You know, when the sun rises," he replied evenly.

"Yes, I've heard of that," she laughed. "It's still that early?"

"Yes," he answered with a soft chuckle.

"Then let me dress and I'll come…" she replied, hesitating as Snape's grin widened. "…_accompany_ you."

"Then hurry up," he said quickly.

"Don't rush me," she teased as she climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom door. When she didn't receive a reply, she looked back to see his voyeuristic stare, a half-smile on his lips.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, as coy as she could muster.

"The aspect where your tiny legs converge with the rest of your body," he replied, all silk and seduction.

Rendered speechless as the blood escaped her brain and went everywhere else, she watched him close his eyes and release a heavy sigh.

"Just go," he instructed, his half-smile becoming a smirk.

Savoring her influence on him too much to resist, she asked, "But why?"

He grinned as he repeated, "Just go."

When he opened his eyes, she saw the same wanton glow that she nearly buckled under the previous morning. Coupled with the view of his exposed torso, her next breath came out as a whimper.

Giggling, she tried to retreat casually behind the door. That racy look was new to her and she wasn't used to it, or perhaps the man wearing the look simply did it justice. Whatever it was, it was unnaturally divine.

Now savoring his affect on her, she hurried into the shower. When she finished, realizing that she hadn't brought any clothes or her bathrobe, she wrapped a towel around. She finished getting ready in a rush, not wanting to keep him waiting. Since she hadn't heard the door, she was sure Snape was still in the bedroom. A longing to taunt him outweighing her modesty, she opened the door. Snape was still there, sitting on the bed while he buttoned his shirt.

"That was fast", he said as he looked up. The grin that spread across his face was sinful as he added, "And you're wicked."

"This was unintentional," she uttered, trying to retain her composure as she blushed. "You need to leave while I get dressed."

Crossing his arms on his chest, he chuckled softly, "Do I have to?"

The lower his voice became, the more it felt as though it were tangible and touching her with each syllable. The warmer her face became, the more difficult it was to reason why not.

Again, her modesty took a back seat as she smiled, "Fine, but you have to close your eyes and keep your hands to yourself."

"That I can do," he said, closing his eyes but retaining the devilish smirk.

Crossing the room to the closet, which was precariously close to the bed, she felt her heart racing ever faster. Turning her back to Snape, who was still sitting with his eyes obediently shut, she let the towel drop to the floor. Feverish warmth in her cheeks, awestruck by what she was doing, she took a step away from the towel before an incandescent heat spiraled from the small of her back. Losing her breath, she placed both hands against the wall seeking support as she looked behind her.

Snape was kneeling on the floor, his hands behind his back, his lips rambling along the very base of her spine. The heavenly sensation freezing her in place, she could do nothing but keep her legs from failing as every receptor in her body screamed with delight. With each meeting of his lips as they made their ascent, her mind steeped in mayhem, she could only shut her eyes and trust that he wasn't prepared to stop.

As he reached her shoulder, she became aware of the terrycloth against her front as his cheek nuzzled her shoulder blade. Opening her eyes, she found that he had wrapped the towel around her, in a sense preserving her modesty. By that time however, she preferred to remain naked. His lips unceasing on her shoulder, she didn't know that he still held the ends of the towel behind her until he used it as a sling, tugging her from the support of the wall, landing her flush against him. His appreciation was especially apparent against her back.

Continuing the attention up her neck, his tongue traced a languid line to her ear and she freed the moan that had been building in her throat, as she could do nothing about the heat building elsewhere that was begging for attention. As soon as she made the sound, he abruptly stopped.

"Wait for me," he breathed in her ear.

"Wha…" she managed to utter, the words refusing to form.

Again, he murmured slowly, "Shut your eyes, stand very still, and wait for me."

Words still forsaking her, she nodded as she complied, clutching the towel in front of her just before he released it. Unsure why she was submitting so readily, yet quite confident she liked it, she felt the chill air against her back before hearing his stealthy steps withdraw. She only wondered for a moment what he was playing at when she heard the hiss of the shower. One minute passed, the anticipation as blinding as the darkness.

Suddenly, the pipes made a hollow rattle as the shower turned off and she listened for further sounds. None came as another minute passed. Then she sensed the towel stir and almost turned around in fright until it tightened around her and began drawing her back. She took one small step, then two, her own breathing almost too loud to endure, her senses heightened from standing still and sightless. Although, she wasn't opening her eyes until her told her to. The next step brought her into contact with something large and solid, the heat radiating from it almost scorching against her chilled skin. She remembered that brick wall. Except this time, it was just as naked as she was, and equally aroused.

Permitting him to lead, she relaxed into the decent as he sat on the bed and situated her astride his legs. Eyes still tightly shut, she felt his breath on her neck yet again.

"Do I have permission to use my hands?" he whispered.

"Uh-huh," she whispered back.

Setting off from each ankle, his hands slid gradually up her calf and along the back of her thighs, whereas his lips recommenced their tormenting on her neck. The hands continued their climb, grazing across her hips and sides until they stopped below her arms. Realizing that she was still clutching the towel, she let it go and felt instantly uncertain about what to do with her hands. He assisted by taking her elbows and pushing her arms into the air, causing her to instinctively rock back against him, laying her hands on his neck as the concentrated heat from his chest ensconced her back.

His hands found her stomach, her eyes still closed while she focused on the callused palms roving gradually upward, consuming her with the suspense of their next stop. She wasn't disappointed as his thumbs traced unhurried lines along the underside of each breast until he took both fully, energizing the insistent and swelling need now uncomfortably damp against his legs. Unable to take anymore, she tried to stir so that she could see him, touch him, but a powerful arm surrounded her waist, tugging her closer.

"Patience," he whispered before taking her earlobe gently with his teeth.

Forgetting why she had tried to budge to begin with, she yielded, relinquishing what remained of conscious thought to the roving fingers on her inner thigh. Edging closer and closer frustratingly slow, they sojourned with the curls briefly before leaving altogether. Even to her surprise, an impudent protest escaped her lips in the form of a moan.

"Please…" she muttered.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered back.

"Touch me…" she answered in a throaty sigh.

"Tell me where."

"Uh…" she breathed, not used to speaking, let alone giving direction during…well. "May I open my eyes?"

"No," he breathed, his smile evident in his tone. "You'll have to show me."

Insecure though determined, she took the hand on her stomach and directed it down until it rested against the throbbing heat at last. As they reached the goal together, his groan was much more satisfying than hers was, his other hand joining in while a finger slipped inside. While he worked an immaculate magic, she soared further into the ungodly sensations, each sending her higher than the next. As they all intertwined, every muscle beginning to tense, she struggled to draw away again.

"You," she murmured as he held her back. "I want you."

Quickly, he released her and she stumbled gracelessly to her feet in her enthusiasm, remembering that she hadn't yet asked permission to look and not sure why that was suddenly so important to her.

As she turned back to him, she asked softly, "May I open my eyes?"

"Not yet."

Enamored in some way by the denial, she took a tentative step forward and smiled as he took her hand to guide the rest of the way. With another step, she crawled onto the bed, unsure where he was as she lay down impatiently awaiting his arrival.

He arrived, except it was his mouth on her knee, making its way up her thigh and momentarily nuzzling the curls before resuming the rise. Wanting desperately to see him, to kiss him, to feel him, she reached out only to feel him vanish.

"Tell me," he whispered.

She could suddenly sense that he was right alongside her, his voice so near, the heat from his skin bridging the distance. Turning her head toward his voice, she muttered something that she had never before said aloud.

"Make love to me."

"Open your eyes," he breathed.

And she did so enthusiastically, striving to view him all at once while he situated himself, kneeling between her legs. The muscular thigh, the gentle curve of his hip, the generous swell of his…well…having only seen one other, she thought it must be generous. His slender waist accentuated his chest and shoulders, adding breadth to their sinew and obvious strength.

When she finally tore her eyes away, she found his, still occupied with their study of her as well. Her insecurities surging back, she hoped that she wasn't too ordinary for him, a man who seemed to exude sexuality, his standards undoubtedly cultivated by experience. His next words were as comforting as they were sensuous.

"You are too lovely," he purred as he descended upon her, raking his chest against her as he slithered up her body.

His scent shrouded her as he arrived, his face hovering just above hers, his eyes wild and his hair still mussed and damp from the shower. Enthralled, his skin like brushed suede against her quivering body, she shut her eyes and welcomed him, finding his lips and begging him with her tongue to proceed. Poised just outside the entrance, she felt him teasing her. Sending her hands down his back, she nudged him on, but he only ended the kiss and moved to her bosom, fueling the passion that was already unbearably strong. When he intensified his efforts, she ran her hands into his hair. All the while, he was still playing with her, tempting that place she so desperately wanted him to go.

"Tell me," she heard him gasp.

Suddenly, she realized what he was waiting for. She clutched what hair she could and tugged him from her breast.

"Make love to me now," she demanded, her voice breathy but strong.

His eyes feral, he heaved a sigh that sounded similar to a growl as he pounced, taking her lips at once with his. With one fluid motion, he faithfully complied. She groaned into his mouth, her back arching into the mind-bending coalescence, a hedonistic splendor coursing through her. With uncommon care, he drove without urgency, giving her a pleasure like none she had known before. Carnal impulse taking over, she wrapped her legs around his hips and etched her nails lightly up his back, generating a hoarse moan into her own mouth. This time starting at his hips, she repeated the gesture, except this time scratching more forcibly up the sides of his stomach. When she reached his chest, he slipped a hand under her waist and pulled her up roughly to meet him, drawing away from the kiss, and peering directly into her eyes.

His gaze enrapturing, she swung her hips to meet his in tempo, gradually stepping up the cadence until those onyx eyes shut forcefully. He met her pace and put his free hand to her breast, pinching painfully, though the pain underscored her climax.

As the moan began, she couldn't believe that it was coming from her. Strident and brash, the moan was growing louder, so she muffled it the only way she could. She bit hard at his chest as wave after wave of visceral bliss infused her. Just as the seismic spell began to wane, he plunged one final time, his head snapping back, prompting her to free his skin and look up just in time to witness the surge of ecstasy on his face before he collapsed on top of her, burying his face in her neck.

She put her arms around him, appreciating the rise and fall of his back as he caught his breath, smiling at the perspiration under her fingers and his nose nuzzling the back of her ear. Unable to remember the last time that she took a breath, she inhaled deeply, the mingling of sweat and his distinctive fragrance adding to her satisfaction.

Lazily, he withdrew, kissing her lightly on the temple before climbing off the foot of the bed. She could only watch, words eluding her again. He threw the blankets over her as he rounded the bed and knelt at the side.

"Though I would love to lie nude with you all day, we do have business to attend to and another shower seems to be necessary," he said slowly, his voice deepened by something intangible. "You are _more_ than welcome to join me."

She only nodded, wishing that she could do something about the stupid grin on her face. He kissed her gently before rising and walking toward the bathroom. She noticed that his self-assured stride was no different nude from clothed. Admiring the back half of the man, she was sure that she could never look at him the same in clothes again, not when he looked like that, a fair-skinned Adonis with raven black hair. He wasn't young, though he certainly wasn't old, and perhaps the session of brilliant sex was clouding her judgment, but she was sure that there were people who would pay good money to…

What on earth was she doing lying there thinking, she chided herself as she rolled out of bed, when she could be in the shower with him.

>

Placinga towel across the edge of the tub, Snape sat and turned the hot water on full, pausing to wallow in the heady perfume of their union. Sighing deeply, he knew that he had been a bit forward, but the thought of her reconciling with Weasley had become more troublesome during the night. Instead of dreaming of terrible things that he had done, Snape saw visions of Hermione telling him that she would rather return to the safe and tediously dim Weasley.

When Snape woke, the sun barely peeking over the horizon and the skyline still hued with pink, he watched her twitch in her sleep, thinking that it would be best to put a stop to their charade before she had the pleasure of doing it first. However, just as that thought formed, another more persistent notion took hold. This notion stated that he would never have happiness if he continued to evade it. Dumbledore voiced this notion, and the memory thankfully chose that moment to surface in Snape's mind. The words had made little sense in Dumbledore's office mere months before Snape grudgingly satisfied the Vow, but now they meant considerably more.

He settled it then, shortly before he woke her from the dream, that instead of distancing himself, he would try his best to keep her. That might have sounded chauvinistic if he'd said it aloud, and he knew full well that she wasn't a possession, but he wasn't a man to use such words as girlfriend or lover to describe those that he cared for. Thus, he chose to keep her. To facilitate this, he would need to show her that he possessed things that the boy could scarcely offer, and the first that came to mind was experience. He had only been teasing, but when she agreed to allow him to stay in the room and then expressed her conditions, he recognized straight away that she had failed to mention lips. He grinned at the recent memory as a timid voice reached him from the doorway.

"You haven't started without me, have you?"

Turning toward the door, he found Hermione peeking around the edge, shielding her body with the wall.

"And what reason could you possibly have to be shy?" he asked.

"Well," she said, as she slowly emerged from her cover, "I'm not used to walking around with nothing on."

"If you ever end up naked in the middle of a bustling street," he recited with a grin, "hold your head high and walk with confidence through the crowd because I guarantee that the people will remember less about the nakedness than they will about the audacity."

"Where did you hear that?" she asked with a smile as she crossed the small room, tying back her hair.

The sweetness of her body was not lost on him as he stood to meet her, steam beginning to cloud the room.

"Dumbledore," he answered, holding out a hand. "If you join me, I'll tell you the story."

She took his hand, stepping into the shower, and he followed, standing behind her as the water deluged them both. Taking a washcloth, he filled it with soap before gliding it across her shoulders.

"It was my first year at Hogwarts," he began, marveling at the vision of her as he spoke. "Some of the older boys decided that it would be quite the farce to toss me into the hallway and seal the door, but not before stripping me of all my clothes." He paused to chuckle.

"That isn't funny at all," she replied, turning toward him to rinse the soap from her back.

"Oh, it is now," he said, still chuckling. "I was terrified at the time. Too embarrassed to seek help, and helpless without my wand, I sought refuge behind a suit of armor. I cowered there for some time before Dumbledore happened upon me."

He paused while they traded sides and he studied the myriad of soaps she had in the tray. He had merely rinsed before seeing as he was planning to get dirty, in more than one sense of the word.

"Hand me that one," she said, reaching around to point at a greenish-blue bar. "That one smells least girlie."

He smiled as he did so, attempting to remain centered as she lathered his back.

"Well go on," she prompted.

"Well, Albus put a hand to his eyes and held out his cloak for me to cover myself. He told me that little maxim while he walked me back to my common room and it always stuck with me."

Just then, he turned to rinse when she said, "So that's why you're so cocky."

He laughed, "I'm cocky because I look pretty damn good…for a forty year old man anyway."

She grinned, "You won't get an argument from me. Of course, I would have said _any_ man."

He only grinned back as she stepped gracefully out of the tub. She swung a towel around herself before striding smugly into the bedroom. Snape smirked after her, thinking that perhaps he was a good influence on her after all. Shutting off the water, he dried himself and cast aside the towel. Retrieving his clothes, he joined her in the bedroom. She was already half dressed when he entered, but watched contentedly as she finished while he cast a few cleansing charms on his clothes. He dressed lazily, not wanting their carefree morning to end. Just as he slipped on his shirt, Hermione gasped.

"Oh my," she was pointing to his chest.

Glancing down, he saw the bruise beginning to blossom where she had nipped him.

"Ah yes," he said as he began to button his shirt. "I never fancied you a biter."

"I'll get my wand and fix that," she said, placing a hand to his chest.

"You most certainly will not," he replied, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. "I'm keeping that, much like the hand full of hair you must have taken as a souvenir."

Smirking, she slid her hand across the top of his head as she said, "It all seems to be there."

"Just barely," he replied, kissing her deeply.

When they parted, he went straight to the door and unsealed it. They would have to get down to business so they wouldn't have to spend all day at the hospital. He took one full step into the living room before two very blue, very angry eyes met his. Snape retreated calmly into the bedroom, shutting the door rather roughly behind him.

"Damn," he said before the unexpected laughter began.

"What's so funny?" Hermione asked, meeting him at the door.

Tickled by the situation, he had trouble containing his laughter long enough to answer, "Were you expecting Mr. Weasley?"

Her face fell as she said, "You're joking."

"I'm afraid not," he replied with a laugh. He still couldn't seem to stop. "He's standing in the middle of the living room."

"This isn't funny," she said firmly, though there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

"I know," Snape conceded, "and I can't help but wonder how long he's been there."

"Oh god," she said with a faint giggle. "Oh god," she repeated, her eyes wide and her expression fading into fear and embarrassment. "I was…"

"Screaming?" he finished, inhibiting another chuckle. "I had a similar thought. That seems to be why I'm unable to stop laughing."

"Well stop," she admonished. "We need to go out there. He can hear us."

He took a deep breath, "I'm trying."

"You're still smiling," she said, her eyebrows high.

"We're going to have to deal that that," he replied, snorting before restoring the weak hold on his composure. "After you."

Opening the door, Hermione strode out in front of him. The boy looked much angrier than he had the first time, which did nothing to help Snape with his amusement, still bubbling just below the surface.

"What kind of idiot do you think I am?" Weasley shot in agitation as they entered.

Ignoring every snide remark floating through his mind, Snape waited for Hermione to answer.

She was staring fixedly at the boy. "The kind that can't take a bloody hint." Her voice was impatient. "Do you just go wandering into people's houses uninvited whenever you feel like it now?"

"I wanted to talk about us," the boy responded. "I knocked and you didn't answer…so I let myself in. I assume you were _busy_." He leered at Snape quickly before returning his furious gaze to Hermione.

"You can't just let yourself in anymore," she warned. "We aren't together anymore, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Ron's face was as scarlet as his sweater. "You spring it on me out of nowhere, after whoring around with _him_ and likely half of London."

The amusement Snape had been feeling gave out quickly at the boy's words and the wounded look on Hermione's face.

"Listen to me boy," Snape stated in a forbidding voice. "You will choose your words more carefully."

Ron glared at him, "No one asked you."

"I don't care," Snape replied coldly. "Just understand what will happen if you don't." He paused to sneer at Ron before continuing, "Hermione was trying to spare your feelings by lying. Nothing happened between us until _after_ she very wisely ended your affair. She will have to provide the details for the why, but suffice to say she hoped you would understand. Obviously, you are incapable."

"You lied to me again?" Ron asked Hermione hurriedly.

"Yes," Hermione answered in exasperation. "For the last year I've wanted to…stop seeing each other, but how do you do that when you're friends? It's so much more complicated, and with Harry, it never seemed like the right time."

"The last year?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Why didn't you say anything when I asked you to move in with me? You told me that you had the rent paid up on…this place…" His voice slowly faded and his expression became one of comprehension as he added, "I'm a blooming idiot. I should have seen it then."

Snape bit back his own comment when Hermione replied, "I was enigmatic about it. It's not your fault, it's not anyone's fault. How do you break up with a friend? What do you say? Hey, let's stop having sex, shall we?"

Hermione and Ron both laughed awkwardly while Snape shook away the mental picture of the two of them having sex. If Weasley was as clumsy in bed as he was with potions, it was amazing he ever managed to consummate the relationship. After one last wince at the thought, he refocused on the two people now hugging in front of him.

"I just hope you don't hate me," Hermione said as she pulled away from the hug.

"I could never hate you," Ron said quietly. "Though I am glad I know the truth now. I'm especially relieved to know there isn't anything going on between you and…" He laughed as he finished, nodding his head toward Snape.

The boy certainly wasn't quick, Snape thought as he asked, "You haven't been here long, have you?"

"Only a few minutes before you came out of the bedroom," Ron answered more congenially than before.

Snape nodded, delaying comment to see how Hermione would respond. She was walking to the coffee table. After picking up the small box, she returned to Ron.

"Here, this is yours," she said as she put it in his hand. "Now go out and have fun tonight. It's Saturday, and you have a lot to celebrate. Harry will be doing much better after we start the regeneration. I'm sure he told you last night."

"Harry was asleep when I got there," Ron replied as he slipped the box in his pocket. "So I ended up at the pub. I'm headed to the hospital now." He looked quickly between Snape and Hermione. "I'm sure there's work you need to be getting to so I'll just go."

"Bye," Hermione said as Ron stepped toward the door.

Snape was shaking his head at Ron, delaying remarks until his departure.

"Wait a second," Ron said with his hand already on the handle, turning back to Snape. "What were you doing in her bedroom?"

Snape smirked at the losing battle with the boy's perceptions, "Because that is where she keeps her books."

"Oh," Ron gave a thin chuckle, "right."

At last, the boy disappeared behind the door and Snape peered down at Hermione who had reached his side.

"He doesn't listen properly, does he?" Snape asked.

She giggled, "Why didn't you correct him?"

"Even when it was untrue, the knowledge seemed to blow his fragile mind," he replied. "Perhaps we should give him a bit of time to recover before we drive him utterly insane."

Hermione laughed as she collected her cloak. "Are you ready yet? Your plants are in need of tending, remember?"

"Wait," he said, bending down to peer directly into her eyes.

"What?" she asked curiously.

He only smiled, swiftly moving in for the kiss. Sustaining his hold on her until he felt her sigh on his cheek, he pulled away saying, "Now I'm ready."

As they walked down the nearly deserted street on that chilly morning, her arm around his waist and his in the middle of her back, he wondered for just a moment if she was huddling so close to his side to protect against the sting of the autumn wind. However, after such a splendid morning, Snape preferred to trust that she wanted to be near him.

He also hoped she wasn't going to yell at him again when she saw the plants. Although, she was markedly sexy when she yelled, creating a conundrum. She hadn't recognized them in his apartment, so she probably wouldn't recognize them now. Then again, he could tell her what they were, get the argument out of the way, and see some of that boundless confidence that he had finally coaxed out of her in the bedroom. As they ascended the steps of the hostel, he grinned. He knew she had it in her.


	10. Chapter 10

a/n - Another long chapter! Not many chapters left! Thank you all again for the reviews. With any luck, the next chapter will be finished sooner than a week, but I make no promises! Enjoy!

Chapter 10

The hostel was seedy to say the least. Layers of cigarette residue and years of filth obscured the wallpaper, which may have been green in some decade long passed. As they climbed to the second floor, the stairs creaked perilously underfoot, giving Hermione the distinct impression that someday very soon someone would end up in the basement without taking the stairs.

"This is nice," Hermione observed as they reached the door to Snape's room. She wrinkled her nose against the unmistakable smell of urine when she added, "You could have found someplace better."

"Well, I haven't been here a great deal since I arrived," he replied as he pushed open the door.

Smirking, she entered first, examining the small room.

It was nothing more than a twin bed, a window, and a steel grey concrete floor. The windowsill held at least half a dozen plants, all exhibiting exquisite, deep blue flowers she had never before seen. Entranced by their beauty, Hermione crossed to the window, reaching out her hand to touch them, but an elastic, nearly invisible bubble blocked her hand.

Snape was chuckling behind her. "It's an artificial habitat. It's sufficient for the rest of my plants, but these must be hand watered every third day while they bloom near sunrise. They're fussy like you."

She was admiring their blue-green leaves and intricately pedaled flowers when Snape's laugh again interrupted her.

"What's funny?" she asked.

"You're still poking my habitat," he answered.

Realizing he was right, she giggled softly and dropped her hand. Taking a seat on the bed, she watched Snape take down the barrier with a quick wand wave before he took the small copper watering can from the sill. Painstakingly, he tipped the can into each pot, taking care not to splatter water on the leaves. When he finished, another dexterous wave restored the bubble before beginning to collect some books from his luggage.

"What are those?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her after he failed to offer the information.

He stiffened slightly at her words. "Do you know the name of the plant Fecund is derived from?" he asked, instantly reminding her of the Professor he once was.

"Trilorian," she answered quickly, "the species native to Africa."

"Very good," he answered, his back to her as he placed the books and a few sheaves of parchment into a satchel.

She was perplexed. African Trilorian was nearly impossible to keep, let alone grow outside of a select stretch of rainforest in Madagascar.

"That can't be," she said with uncertainty. "It would take a miracle to keep those alive."

"How else do you think I produced the Fecund?" he countered, again in his best Professor voice, but lacking the spite so imprinted in her memory of him.

"I assumed you Apparated there like everyone else," she answered, just before remembering him harvest the leaves her first morning at his apartment. The other plants must have hidden the flowers that day.

"Not unless I wanted a splitting headache and a nosebleed," he replied sarcastically. "There are those with the time and knowledge to grow them," he added as he closed the bag and turned to her with a smile. "You aren't bothered that I kept them, then?"

"Of course not," she gasped. "I can't imagine how much work they took to grow, and you aren't using them, right?"

"No," he answered with a chuckle. "Not unless I need a poison."

Hermione laughed, "Do you poison people often?"

"Not anymore," he replied. "If you're ready, I have everything."

He picked up the bag and motioned toward the door. As she caught up, she looked again at the desolate room and was quite glad that he hadn't had to sleep there.

"Wait," she said as they were almost to the door. "Why don't you take my key and bring your things to my apartment. You can stay there while you're here. I don't mean move in or anything, just keep your things there…and sleep there…of course you've already done that…it would be temporary…until you go home…" She finally took a breath when Snape started to laugh.

"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked, an amused look on his face. "When you tire of me, I'll have nowhere to go."

Laughing, she cuffed him on the arm. "When I tire of you, I'll send you to the couch."

He smirked, "You most certainly will not. That thing is more aptly classified as a medieval torture device."

"It's just a suggestion," she said quickly.

"This could take months," he said quite seriously. The longer the conversation went on, the more anxious he began to look.

"Then you should find someplace better," she told him. "And you could do that perfectly well from my place."

Hermione steeled herself as the unexpected panic struck. She didn't know why she was pushing the issue, and she hadn't considered the consequences when she made the suggestion. Without warning, she suddenly wanted him to say no so that she wouldn't have to deal with those consequences, which were not limited to explaining to Ron or her parents should they drop in, besides allowing another person such access into her life. Even after three years with Ron, she had never let him stay more than a couple of nights in a row before insisting that she had some important work to do just to get him to leave. Nevertheless, she was hip deep in the persuasion now and backing out would look insincere. Snape's next words provided a brief reprieve from the dilemma.

"Mr. Potter will awake soon," he said, his eyes searching hers. "It would be bad form to keep him waiting."

"You're right," she said, grasping onto the excuse. "We can talk about it later…or not…whatever."

Leading the way into the hall, Hermione enjoyed the silent walk out of the building and down the street, until the silence became awkwardly pregnant. The silence was not unlike that she had felt on their walk to the café in Mandeville. Walking at arm's length, they had made it half way to the hospital when Hermione was again prepared to put an end to it. However, Snape saved her the trouble.

"Stop," he said, halting at her side. From her vantage point, she could see his brow was furrowed. Without looking at her, he continued. "You don't understand." He cleared his throat almost nervously before adding, "This is preposterous."

Disturbed by having instigated the situation, she tried to explain. "I shouldn't have asked like that. Don't think that because we slept together I'm going to cling. I'm not clingy, really. I like my space…just like you…and we've only been on speaking terms for what, four days?"

While she rambled, Snape laughed, setting his bag on the sidewalk before turning toward her and placing one hand on her shoulder and the other over her mouth. Stunned by the gesture, yet glad he took the initiative to shut her up, she smiled against his palm and looked into his now smirking face.

He hesitated on a word more than once, obviously searching for words, something Hermione had never seen him do quite so vehemently.

Finally, he said softly, "I've laughed more in those four days…" He trailed off as he took his hand from her mouth and put it on her other shoulder. "Whatever this is, I don't want to ruin it."

Stunned by the simple statement that said so much, she put her hand on his chest to discover his heart racing beneath. It was then that she realized how difficult it was for him to say such things. She tried to reply, but he stopped her.

"You should know," he said quietly, "that it worried me to have you suddenly so far away."

The openness of the declaration left Hermione without reply. The wispy ripple in her stomach and his genuine eyes left her astonished as well.

"To settle the matter," he went on in nearly a whisper, "I will keep the room for whatever purpose. However, wherever I find myself, should I be invited, is where I'll stay."

Hermione could only nod as the smile spread across her face, gratified by glimpsing yet another facet to the man. He slid his hands to her neck and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were casual, sweet, and possibly an ounce timid.

When he drew away, he laughed quietly and retrieved his bag before saying in the usual offhand tone, "If you are quite finished babbling, we really should be going."

Laughing at his segue, she replied, "You know, Ron hasn't shown up yet. That has to be some kind of record."

Snape chuckled as they started back down the street, "Why do you think I stopped before the hospital? No doubt, Weasley's there now, waiting to jump out should an opportunity present itself."

"I'm fairly sure it's his new hobby," she said dryly.

"It is a pity that he was too late to hear the fruits of my labor," he replied evenly.

When Hermione looked up, her face becoming warm at the thought, she saw him rubbing a hand across the no doubt still maturing bruise on his chest making her blush that much more.

When he looked forward, he sighed, "Of course, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh very funny," she said before herself looking ahead only to see Ron running toward them.

"Thank god," he panted when he reached them. "I was coming to find you. We can't wake Harry!"

Immediately concerned, Hermione looked to Snape, who appeared as collected as usual.

"Calm yourself boy," he said coolly. "Potter will wake when the potion has finished its job, which I assume will be soon considering how long he's been afflicted."

"You assume?" Ron asked in a shrill voice.

Hermione tried her best not to smile in anticipation of Snape's response.

"I assume, _Mr. Weasley_, that my calculations are accurate," Snape replied in a frigid tone. "Taking into account that they practically always are, I am quite secure in my assumption."

"Well then," Ron said with a diffident smile, "don't mind me." Looking to Hermione, he added quickly, "I'll go see if Harry's up yet."

With a faint laugh, Ron retreated briskly down the street and disappeared through the barrier into the hospital.

"I think he's reverted to being a little scared of you," Hermione observed.

"I like him better that way," Snape said lowly before chuckling himself.

As they made their way through the hospital, Hermione listened closely as Snape instructed her on the day's strategy.

"You may begin the regeneration as soon as Potter is awake. Only then will the healing work properly. I need to begin research on the next curse so you will have to work alone, unless you would prefer to ask one of yesterday's morons to assist, though I trust you won't. Do you have any questions?" he asked as soon as they reached Harry's door.

"No," she answered, smiling at his professionalism. "I can handle it on my own."

"I know you can," he said as he started past her.

"Wait a second," she said, taking his arm. "You're just going to leave without saying goodbye?"

She saw the smile trace his lips before his expression became abruptly stern.

"While we work," he said softly, "it would be sensible to maintain a certain level of decorum."

"Of course," she replied, taken back by his reticence.

As he continued past, she felt the distinctive squeeze of his hand on her bottom as he departed.

Laughing, she spun around and called down the mercifully deserted hallway, "You're evil."

"You're not the first to say so," he replied, glancing back with a grin before vanishing down the corridor leading to the potions lab.

As she entered Harry's room, she closed the door and muttered, "I'll get you back for that."

"For what?" Ron asked, startling her as he walked around the curtain circling the bed.

"Nothing," she replied with a sigh as she approached the bed. "Is he up yet?"

"He just came to," Ron answered as he stepped away to allow her past.

Harry was sitting up and appeared alert, pointing to the parchment in his lap. "I already feel better," it read.

"Good, but you'll feel much better soon." She looked to Ron who was peering just over her shoulder. "I'll need to start soon. I can give you a few more minutes if you like."

"No," Ron replied. "I'll come back later. I have homework." He turned to Harry, adding, "See you tonight, then."

Harry nodded as Ron hurried from the room. She watched him leave, puzzled by his haste. When she looked back, Harry was wearing a perceptive grin and was again pointing at his parchment.

"He ran into Lavender Brown last night," was all it said but Harry's grin conveyed the story.

"Ron did?" she asked before comprehension struck. "He was coming over to tell me about it this morning, wasn't he?"

Harry scribbled, "Except he found Snape."

Unable to stop her laugh of embarrassment, and a bit of relief having learned that Ron wasn't wallowing, she watched Harry start writing again.

"Who was there working…in your bedroom…where you keep your books?" The last three words were underlined three times.

She giggled, "But if Ron was coming to tell me about Lavender, then why did he get mad when he saw Severus?"

Smiling even wider, Harry scrawled, "Because he's Ron. He got jealous, and now he's guilty about Lavender."

"What for?" Hermione asked before adding quickly, "Because he thinks I'm not with Severus now."

Nodding, Harry wrote, "So?" He underlined this three times as well.

"So what?" she asked as unwittingly as possible.

"What's going on with you and SNAPE?" This time he circled it.

She only shrugged and laughed, finding the situation too new to discuss. Deciding the conversation had gone far enough, she began turning down his covers to prepare for the treatment. She was sure Harry knew the drill. The regeneration spell had been administered dozens of times before.

"THAT says plenty," was the last note, which he held in front of her face before he put the parchment on the bedside table.

Hermione laughed, drawing her wand, "How do you know everything?"

Smiling, he shrugged as he stretched out on the bed in preparation for the treatment.

Though she asked, Hermione knew why Harry was so insightful. Since he couldn't do anything else, he observed everyone very closely and in doing so developed quite a keen eye for people. That was going to come in very handy after he healed, she thought as she began with his legs, casting the spells meticulously on each muscle.

It was tedious work, but not terribly difficult. As each spell reached its destination, the muscle contracted and relaxed, which was fortunately painless. When she finished, Harry would have to drink a potion that would initiate the spells and cause the muscles to strengthen and expand. If Snape's potion worked, that process would be quite painful. All previous attempts had left Harry pain free when the spells failed to initiate. It felt odd to hope for pain. Pain in this instance would mean progress, and imminently Harry's full recovery. With any luck, that pain would be some of the last Harry would ever have to suffer because of Voldemort.

>

Finding the potions lab again was easy enough. Getting everyone out was another story. Though it was Saturday, the room was busy with healers and apprentices working to brew the potions for the hospital. Snape felt a twinge of guilt at tossing them out, thinking that he could find another suitable room in which simply to read, but he missed spending time in a real potions laboratory and their work could wait.

Anticipating some of Voldemort's original handiwork, Snape brought along every parchment and what few books he had managed to save from his days with the Death Eaters. One of those many pages may well contain the detail he hoped would shed light on a cure, if not merely something to extend Harry's life.

As he spread the papers across one of the long oak tables, Snape thought about Hermione's impromptu offer. He had lived alone since sixteen, choosing to remain alone against the advice of Dumbledore and every other adult in his life. That trend carried into adulthood, having never had the peace of mind or the inclination to permit such a frivolous indulgence after joining the Death Eaters and then turning spy. It seemed unfair to saddle anyone with the danger or the nuisance, not that he had a plethora of proposals anyway.

Realizing with a hefty sigh that this line of thought was only making him feel worse, he refocused on the parchments, many scribbled in a hurried hand while taking notes as Voldemort blathered about one scheme or another. Snape flipped with care to the dates that would concern the Evaste Spiritus curse.

Voldemort was convinced that he could invent a curse to rival that of Avada Kedavra, a curse combining misery and excruciating pain with a guaranteed kill. The closest that he ever came was Evaste Spiritus. The curse was from the darkest magic, creating a cloud of noxious gas, which formed a cloud of microscopic particles in the air. When inhaled, it affected the lungs instantly, though it also appeared to absorb through the mucus membranes, passing into the blood and affecting the cells. Not only did the curse affect lung function, gradually weakening the tissue, but it also diminished the bloods capacity to carry oxygen through the body, amplifying the symptoms. The curse acted by slowly asphyxiating the victim, leading to an unavoidable, agonizing death. The people Voldemort chose as test subjects succumb after only three months, less than one quarter of the time Harry had managed to survive.

Finally locating the appropriate few pages, Snape scanned them for any reference to the base incantation, the theory, the structure, but all he found were notes on the devastation it caused with nothing about the why or the how. He tried fruitlessly to recollect details of those days, but the war split Snape's concentration in so many directions that he could only recall those same broad strokes that the notes retold.

Giving up on the notes, he moved to the books, wondering even as he read how any book could assist against a curse that no one else knew existed. All the while, his mind kept drifting back to why Potter was still alive. Snape went back over all the treatments, the order of their application, the phase of the moon the day of the therapy, but nothing gave a hint.

Engrossed in his research, it wasn't until the sun began to glare through the windows that he realized how late it was. The lab was on the west end of the facility, so it had to be nearing two in the afternoon. Checking his watch, he found that it was closer to three. The time emphasized the discomfort in his neck and back from sitting hunched over the material for so long. He stood to stretch the taught muscles just as the door opened. Glancing over, he saw Hermione enter, carrying a much-appreciated cup of coffee in addition to her equally uplifting company.

"I come bearing the gift of caffeine," she announced with a smile. "I see you've successfully cleared the room again."

He returned the smile as he said, "They couldn't stand my singing."

She laughed as she handed him the coffee, "Tell me you're joking, because I would be terribly upset to have missed that."

"I don't sing," he replied with a chuckle as he retook his seat, finding the mediocre hospital coffee better than he expected. Hermione took the seat beside him.

"Have you made any progress?" she asked as she sat.

He considered coloring the information for a second before answering, "At the moment, I'm at a loss."

"If it's any consolation, the regeneration worked very well," she said happily. "I let him go long enough to know the potion was working before giving him a diluted sleep potion to get him through the worst of the pain. He should be awake in about half an hour and I can't wait to see him look normal again."

"That is good news," Snape replied, pleased as much with the success as her glowing spirit. "I could do with one less worry at the moment."

"Is this curse proving more difficult than you anticipated?" she asked softly.

"No," he answered quickly, thinking to himself that the situation was still as impossible as it had been. Taking her penetrating gaze as an indication she wished to know more, he decided not to sugarcoat the news. She would demand further information soon enough and he was only wasting time and slighting her intelligence by trying to shield her.

"Are you planning to elaborate?" she asked, eyeing him judiciously.

"Eventually," he replied, staring into her curious eyes. Unable to think of a way to avoid it, he set down his cup and reluctantly continued, "This curse is insidious, eating away at the tissues and assailing the respiratory and circulatory systems, slowly stealing the body of oxygen. All other victims died within a few months making the simple fact that Harry remains alive a mystery."

Her expression didn't change as she asked, "Were you planning to ever share that information with me?"

"Eventually," he answered honestly. "Of course, I had hoped to have better news to follow it rather than more uncertainty."

"I understand…I do," she replied quietly, her voice taking on a dull quality. Snape was sure her mind was busy trying to digest the information. "What do we do?"

"First, we figure out why he is still alive," he said, fighting down the lament at having to impart the distressing information. "I think we should speak with Harry as soon as he wakes to ask if he has been taking anything besides his prescribed medication."

"He hasn't," she stated flatly. "He would've told me."

"People in desperate situations do many things that they normally wouldn't consider," he told her.

"What about his treatments?" she suggested. "Perhaps one of them…"

Snape cut her off, "I've considered every angle, and this is the next feasible hypothesis."

She shook her head as she said, "I don't think he would do anything to jeopardize his treatment. He knows better than to take something…"

"He's dying," Snape interjected. "He would do anything."

"You don't know that," she retorted.

Frustrated by her conviction, he interrupted, "I know what it is to think you're approaching death, and it is a uniquely frightening frame of mind. You consider doing things you would have never dreamed doing. Hermione, this is the only clue we have, seeing as the information we need died with Voldemort. Unless we solve this, Harry is going to die."

"I know," she said, all the confidence gone from her voice. If Snape had learned anything thus far, her eyes were nearly watery enough that she would soon be holding her breath.

"I didn't say that to upset you," he tried to soothe. "We have to be on the same page."

"I tried not to get my hopes up, you know?" she replied, her voice strained. "But after you remedied the other curse so quickly...I should have come to you sooner." The tears were beginning to well as she looked down at the floor.

"I should have inquired to his condition sooner," he offered, sliding toward her and placing his hands on her knees. "Perhaps the damage wouldn't be so advanced, we'd have more time, but I never once thought that my help would be wanted. Truth be told, he should have died long before I went to prison, and you certainly wouldn't have wanted my help then, not when I was still a raving, murderous traitor."

She glanced up, the corners of her mouth giving the tiniest twitch.

"You remember, don't you?" he went on. "When I was a vile, blood-thirsty scoundrel?"

"No you weren't," she said quietly as she smiled.

"Now you know that," he replied. "Then, you would have killed me on sight."

"I only would have hurt you…a little," she countered, putting her arms promptly around his neck.

"Do you feel better?" he asked, returning the embrace.

"Yes," she answered, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "Thank you for changing the subject."

"You're welcome," he replied before hearing a faint knock at the door.

Hermione pulled away, giggling, "Ron must have finished his homework."

The knock sounded again as Snape laughed.

"What?" he called to the door.

The face of the dark-haired healer poked around the corner. Flannigan was his name, Snape recalled as he smirked at the surprisingly non-Weasley disruption.

The man donned a slick smile before saying, "I thought you would want to know Harry's awake."

"Thank you," Snape said as he turned back to Hermione. "Are you ready?"

"Let's get on with it," she sighed as she stood, heading toward the door.

Snape followed--surprised to see Flannigan still hovering at the door. Irritation superseded the surprise when Hermione reached the door. Flannigan put an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the hall as he leaned in, whispering something to her just before Snape reached them.

Hermione hastily doubled back, putting Snape in the middle as all three marched silently down the corridor. Snape's irritation was not fading, but rising quite quickly into anger as he wondered what could possibly give Flannigan the right. Brief glimpses of an interoffice romance flitted through his mind, along with the reality that the man was a great deal closer to her age. The more Snape ruminated on the idea, the more he detested the young man. As they turned the corner onto the next ward, Flannigan's simpering voice stole Snape from his thoughts.

"Severus," he began, "whatever you're doing with Harry is working wonders. He looks great."

"I know," Snape replied, his voice steeped with loathing. "But thank you for attempting to kiss my ass."

He heard Hermione snort before she stated with remarkable sarcasm, "I don't think he was trying to kiss your ass, Severus. He would have to pull his head out of his own to do that."

"You know, I do believe you're right," Snape told her as they arrived at their destination.

He allowed Hermione to enter first and then turned to prevent Flannigan from entering. Snape had to smirk at the insulted look on the young man's face.

"That will be all, Mr. Finnegan," Snape said as he gave the door a shove.

"It's Flannigan," the man corrected.

"Whatever," Snape replied just as the door closed whilst Hermione snickered at his side. "Does he do that often?" Snape asked her.

"Get all cuddly?" she replied perceptively. "He's been trying to get me to go out with him for ages. This time though, he wanted to commend me on being able to tolerate you. He's quite unhappy about having been shoved to the wayside."

"I can give him other things to be unhappy about," Snape said harshly as he looked down at Hermione, who was staring back with a cunning smile.

She laughed quietly before saying, "You're jealous."

"No," he defended quickly. "I found him rude."

"Because he put his arm around me?" she asked, her eyes begging him to play.

"Because he has no reason to handle you in that way," Snape replied, attempting to keep his face impassive against her temptation.

She laughed again before asking, "And you do?"

"I have reason and permission," he answered lowly. Her mischievous grin goaded him into adding, "And the bruises to prove it." As soon as he uttered the words, he remembered with mild panic where he was, standing just inside the door of Potter's room.

"Decorum Severus," Hermione admonished with a mischievous grin.

Wanting desperately to be angry, but finding himself enamored far more than was appropriate for the situation, he leaned down to whisper his next words.

"You have no idea what you've started."

When he straightened up, smirking despite her cleverly crafted revenge, he took pleasure in her curious stare. Snape glancing toward the bed, finding the curtain pulled back, giving Harry a clear view of the entire exchange.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said evenly, walking quickly toward the grinning boy. "I hope you enjoyed the show."

Nodding his reply, Harry looked much healthier, alleviating a few of Snape's concerns. Though still skinny, his face had filled out and his arms lying atop the blankets no longer appeared emaciated and frail. If the regeneration worked so well then he may not be as sick as Snape initially thought.

When he reached the bedside, Snape asked, "I trust you will not speak of anything you overheard?"

"He hasn't spoken at all since you told him not to," Hermione replied, joining them on the opposite side of the bed.

Harry quickly held up a note saying, "Can I write it down?"

"No," Snape answered, glaring from the smirking boy to the giggling Hermione. "We have serious business to attend to. I need to ask you something Mr. Potter, and it is in your best interest to be honest."

Nodding, Harry readied his quill and parchment.

"What have you been taking besides your regular medications?" Snape asked pointblank. When Harry began shaking his head, Snape added, "Before you fervently deny, you should know that I believe whatever it is has saved your life thus far. We need to know what it is before we can proceed."

Eyes wide with mingled fear and appreciation, Harry glanced from the parchment to Snape, finally resting his eyes on Hermione.

"I'm not mad at you," she told him softly. "We need to know so we can make you well."

Very slowly, Harry began writing after drawing his knees up, obstructing their view. He hesitated for a moment, finally holding out the note to Hermione.

She gave an astonished laugh as she said, "This shouldn't give _you_ any trouble."

"Why's that?" Snape asked.

Shaking her head, she answered, "Because it's Fecund."


	11. Chapter 11

a/n - Finished on time! I'm posting this now because after too many edits to count it's still longer than I'd like, but I can't bring myself to cut any more and with any luck you'll enjoy it anyway. Thank you for all the reviews. They are fantastic as always. (**Edit:** Absolutely the last time I write the a/n at four in the morning. After reviewing the rest of the story, there will definitely be two more chapters. That will make it lucky number 13--and long enough to be a novel. Anyway, hope you enjoy this installment. The next will be up soon. Thanks again!) And for those who read the previous a/n, don't worry. I would never lead you astray, unless…oh…I can't say! You'll have to wait and see!

Chapter 11

"Fecund?" Snape repeated in a harsh tone. "Have you been feeling less than superior mentally Potter, or do you purely take pleasure from chemical dependency?"

"I thought we weren't going to be upset?" Hermione asked, surprised at the outburst.

"I'm not upset," he said through clenched teeth. "There is simply no reason why _Fecund_ could have any …unless…" His voice faded as he back away from the bed, falling into the chair by the window and staring out while Harry slouched down into the pillows looking morose.

"Don't you start feeling sorry," she told Harry. "If this isn't the answer then we'll figure out some other way."

Quite suddenly, Snape began to laugh--a jovial laugh that nearly frightened her. Concerned that something must be wrong, she rounded the bed quickly.

"Are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"Never better," he answered, eyes alight with inspiration. "Hug me."

"What?" she asked, confused by the request.

"I need to speak to Weasley," he explained. "Hugging you seems to achieve that end."

She laughed softly, "I don't think it works that way."

"Let's test the theory, shall we?"

Nimbly catching her waist, he tugged her into his arms, the force of the pull landing her across his lap. Under other circumstances, she would be pleased to be there, but with Harry looking on, she was less than delighted.

"This isn't the time," she scolded in whisper.

"That didn't bother you a moment ago," he reminded lowly, his righteous smile stalling her objection. His eyes, however, were set on the doorway.

She had to giggle, "You don't honestly think this'll work, do you?"

Her words were still echoing when, to her utter amazement, Ron entered standing stock still a few paces into the room, obviously confused by what he saw.

"That was efficient," Snape chuckled, lifting her effortlessly as he stood and righted her to her feet. He paused to straighten his robes before heading directly toward Ron. "Mr. Weasley, exactly the person I wanted to see."

Eyes wide with panic, Ron backpedaled. "Why's that?" he asked, his voice anxious.

Hermione had no trouble supposing that Snape took enjoyment from Ron's reaction as he continued his retreat until the wall finally stopped him.

Halting a few steps from Ron, Snape stated casually, "We've been having the most enlightening chat with Harry and he tells us you've been supplying Fecund for him."

Harry was shaking his head no, but there was no way for Ron to see around Snape. Hermione just smiled at Snape's means of interrogation.

"Harry wouldn't tell you that," Ron avowed.

"The only thing I don't know," Snape continued, clasping his hands behind his back, "is why you've been buying it from Jonas Anderson."

"How do you know that?" Ron asked in a pinched voice. "I never told Harry the man's name."

Snape only laughed as he turned to Hermione, "May I speak with you in the room across the hall?"

"Of course," she answered, wanting some answers herself.

When Snape moved toward the door, Hermione got a glimpse of Ron's ashen face, still staring charily at Snape. Harry was staring raptly at Hermione, who could only shrug in response to his curious gaze. Leading the way across the wall, she waited patiently for Snape to close the door before beginning her questioning.

"How _did_ you know that? Did you look into Ron's mind?"

"There was no need," he replied, joining her quickly in the center of the room and sliding his arms under hers, lifting her into a hug. "We've solved it," he said as he raised her from the ground. As he held her, he kissed her neck gently, sending shivers through her body.

She grinned as he set her to the ground, saying, "I'm glad to see you so relieved, but I don't understand how any of this is solved."

He laughed before answering, "Harry hasn't been taking Fecund. He's been taking Anderson's."

"What difference does that make?" she asked.

"Jonas Anderson is a botanist," Snape began. "I met him by accident shortly after I realized I wasn't going to find honest work. I went to New Orleans in search of Trilorian, which can be difficult for obvious reasons. To my amazement, there was a blooming Trilorian in a window--in the muggle part of town no less. That happened to be Jonas' shop. At first, I thought he was a very old muggle who had no idea what he had…"

"What does this have to do with Harry?" she asked, impatience overwhelming her curiosity.

"I'm getting to that," he chuckled. "I inquired about buying it, so Jonas took me to the back of his shop where he had rows upon rows of the plant. He told me that he had succeeded many years before with hybridization, making them easier to care for. They're still finicky, but they do grow much faster. He also said that it had no bearing on the elixir that some of the magic folk liked to brew. I thought he meant voodoo. I had no idea. I bought one plant knowing that I could start others on my own and then I forgot about him until two weeks before you showed up. I went back to purchase some other plants and he asked me directly if I was a wizard. I said yes, thinking I could Obliviate him if need be, but then he said that he could always tell the muggles from the magical by the plants that they bought."

"So he's a wizard?" she asked, appreciating Snape's chuckle at yet another question.

"Yes," Snape answered kindly. "But after that, he asked me flat out to produce the elixir for him. I was reluctant until he told me he would pay half the street value. I agreed, thinking I could still Obliviate him if I needed to…that was before I knew he was a Legillimens." He chuckled warmly before continuing. "Anyhow, he had heard I was quite good and he told me that he had a reputation to uphold. It was during that visit he told me of the young man who had been coming to him for some time all the way from_ London_ to purchase it for an ailing friend. Jonas asked the boy why he traveled so far, and he said that his friend deserved the best."

"How does that solve anything?" she asked before comprehension struck. Her face was growing hot as the implications set in.

Snape's face fell as he asked, "Why are you upset?"

She laughed softly before answering, "Because that means Ron wasn't as much in New Orleans to see me as he was to buy drugs for Harry." Sighing, she added, "That's beside the point. Please go on."

"The point is," he stressed, "Anderson crossed his Trilorian with Foxglove, creating a very unique hybrid. I think his Trilorian retained some of the glycosides from the Foxglove, specifically digitalis."

"Digitalis," Hermione repeated, trying to make sense of the information. "That's a muggle heart medicine."

"Exactly," Snape replied. "It increases the amount of blood pumped with each heartbeat without weakening the muscle. That, coupled with the natural properties of Fecund, appears to have worked against both phases of the curse."

"What good does the euphoria do?" she asked, unable to keep the cynicism out of her voice.

"It's what causes the euphoria," Snape laughed softly. "Fecund amplifies the amount of oxygen processed by the body with each breath while its own chemicals go to work in the brain. That is what induces the euphoria in a healthy person--and the dependency. In Harry's case, it counteracts the hypoxia. Each one on its own wouldn't have mattered much, but working together, they keep him alive. His _drug_ slowed the tissue deterioration, now all we have to do is stop it."

"You can cure him?" she gasped.

"No," Snape sighed before another energized smile curved his lips. "But I think we can make an elixir potent enough to work as a restorative, at the same time preventing the curse from harming him further. He'll have to take it for the rest of his life, but he'll have a life nonetheless."

The truth was sinking in when she asked, "He'll be able to breathe…to talk normally?"

Snape laughed, "He shouldn't be running any marathons, but yes. I believe so."

His confidence was enough, allowing her to surrender the worry at last. She threw her arms around his middle, embarrassment edging in as the tears of joy slid down her face. While he held her, she closed her eyes, willing away the embarrassment with his scent and the peaceful cadence of his breathing. It was as though an eternity of anxiety dissolved with that one embrace.

"The best thing I've ever done was find you," she told him quietly, absently wiping her tears on his chest.

His chuckle thundered through her, "I was thinking the same."

Peeking up, she saw him staring at her, a mesmerizing quality in his eyes. As she stared into those eyes that she considered so irresistible, the room seemed to dissolve, the knocking at the door mattered not. Only they were relevant for that one instant while she admired the sweep of his lashes and the iridescent facets of daylight reflected from deep within the iris.

Snape glanced to the door before whispering, "We should answer that."

"They can give us another minute," she breathed, rising on tiptoe to let him know she wanted kissed.

As though he needed no direction, he met her midway. His yielding lips filled her mind with visions of the early morning. His tongue swept graciously across her bottom lip, wiping away all memory of where she was and why, leaving nothing more important than how he intoxicated her. All she wanted was for the ordeal with Harry to be over so that she could return to his enchanting apartment in Mandeville for a time. They could spend their days in the city and their nights under that fluffy black comforter next to those windows--where in her fantasy, it was raining.

When he began to pull away, she followed until she could no longer stand tall enough to sustain the kiss.

"I know we have a bed and the door is locked," he stated rather breathlessly. "But don't you think we should attend to that incessant knocking?"

Frustrated by the rude tumble into reality, she said the first thing that came to mind. "You locked the door?"

"Of course," he replied with a smirk. "I didn't come in here to attend the Weasley parade."

Hermione was still giggling when Snape took her hand and led her to the door. When he reached out to turn the lock, he let go, but she retrieved his hand, unwilling to hide her feelings from anyone.

"Are you sure?" he asked, squeezing her hand.

"Positive," she replied, unlocking the door herself. Upon opening it, as suspected, she found Ron's scarlet face staring back.

"Have you both gone deaf?" he asked loudly.

"Did you think we climbed out the window?" Snape countered in his caustic tone.

"Shall we focus?" Hermione offered, knowing both men well enough to stave off the impending pissing match.

They both gave a boyish nod, and Hermione and Snape started across the hall behind Ron. Snape stopped her before they reached the door.

"You tell them," he explained. "I'll fetch the plants."

"All right," she said, moving in to hug him again. He returned it, but just barely, patting her back softly. She saw him glaring at the doorway where Ron stood waiting. Public hugs were evidently not his way.

"I'll return shortly," he offered quietly in her ear before swiftly drawing away and starting down the corridor.

She watched after him, admiring his confident gait much as she had that morning, satisfied that she was right--she could not look at him the same. When he disappeared down the stairs, she turned to discover Ron watching her inquiringly.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

"It's in his contract," she answered matter-of-factly, smirking at him before brushing past into the room.

She owed him no explanation, especially after learning of Lavender and his clandestine trips she had never even suspected. Keeping in mind that Snape had already told Ron that morning, though Ron had failed to listen, she felt oddly gratified that she was concealing nothing.

For now though, she was content to relay the new information to her friends, unsure whether she should divulge the full extent of Snape's involvement with Jonas Anderson. Deciding it was none of their business, she chose to skirt the issue, allocating Snape the duty of telling them if he saw the fit.

When she was through with the monologue to the two very quiet boys who seemed to think that she might start shouting at them at any moment, she made a stop at the staff lounge for a coffee before venturing back to the potions lab to await Snape return.

As she sipped the bitter excuse for coffee, she thought that no matter how reluctant she was to say so, she was glad for the whole mess. When the events of the last week sprung forth, an epiphany struck, bald-faced and indisputable. Without the Fecund, Harry would have died and she wouldn't have gone into healing, meaning that she would have never found the letter and in all likelihood Snape would still be facing execution. "Huh," she said aloud to the empty room, suddenly grateful to Jonas Anderson and some man named Dumbley and thinking that fate certainly seemed to enjoy its little forays into her life. She also made a mental note to hug this Jonas, should she ever have the pleasure of meeting him.

>

Retaining a satisfied smile all the way, Snape opted to Apparate to the hostel to save a bit of time. Upon reaching the tiny room, he collected the plants, careful of the leaves as they were of much greater importance now. The significance of the situation was not lost on him, thinking as he descended the stairs that they would still be lost if he had never met Jonas. If it hadn't been for that single Trilorian in the window on that one day, Snape would still be stumbling in the unknown with the curse.

Blessed be the old man, whom Snape would have befriended if it hadn't been for his own melancholy. At the time, he had felt undeserving of such friendship, particularly from a man who reminded him so of Dumbledore, which was why Snape refused every offer of food or drink Jonas put forth. Stepping back onto the street with his precious cargo, Snape realized that the pang of guilt at Dumbledore's memory was less acute than it once was. Snape resolved then to pick up a bottle of something pricy after he returned home to share with Jonas. With that thought, Snape Apparated back to the hospital.

Ignoring the peculiar stares as he carried the plants through the building, he told himself that next time he would reduce them, should he ever need to carry six blooming plants at once. When he reached the potions lab, he thought at first that it was still empty, until he heard mumbling coming from the store closet.

"Severus is right. The people who organized this cupboard must be illiterate."

Gently placing the plants on the table, Snape moved quietly in the direction of Hermione's voice until he was standing just at her back as she tried to reach a jar on the highest shelf.

"Illiterate and _tall_," he said, chuckling as she jumped back.

She laughed, "How do you manage to make absolutely no noise?"

"I'm gifted."

He sent one arm around her waist as the other pointed to the bottle she appeared to be reaching for. She nodded.

Taking it from the shelf, he asked, "What do you need with jonquil extract?"

"Nothing you need concern yourself with," she replied, a bashful quality about her as she tipped a bit onto her finger. "I like it."

Snape took her hand and spread the drop from the tip to her palm, massaging it before bringing it up to partake. The scent was so very sweet without being cloying. Unable to resist, he kissed the inside of her wrist, sensing her tilt further against him as he did so.

"We should get to work," he advised, more for himself than for her.

"Just another minute," she said quietly.

Snape was considering kissing her when he heard someone harrumph behind him.

Knowing full well who it was, he snarled very slowly, "For the love of god boy, what do you want?"

"I'm looking for Hermione. Do you know where I might find her?"

To Snape's utter amazement, the oddly familiar voice did not belong to any member of the Weasley family. Turning to face the bother, he was nearly speechless at the sight of the man with the curly blond hair wearing hunter green robes.

"Mr. Hargrove," Snape said, dispensing with the disdain. "I do apologize. I thought you were someone else."

"Severus?" the man replied. "What brings you back to London?"

"I am here on business," Snape answered.

"Hello," Hermione said cheerfully from his shoulder.

"Hermione," Elijah replied. "I was in the building and thought I would say hello before I left. One of the nurses said I could find you in here with the angry man, whatever that meant."

Snape cleared his throat before saying, "She must have been the one reluctant to vacate the lab."

"You weren't mean to her, were you?" Hermione asked, smiling up at him.

"That is a matter of opinion," he replied, noting her smirk as well as Mr. Hargrove's.

"Hmm…I believe I've interrupted," Elijah said suddenly. "I stopped to say hello and I've done so." He rested his eyes pointedly on Hermione.

"I'll walk you to the door," she said before looking to Snape.

Snape nodded, watching her warily as she joined Elijah.

"It's good to see you doing well Severus," the man said.

"Yes," Snape nodded. "It's good to see you as well Mr. Hargrove."

"Good evening Severus," Elijah replied kindly. "And please, my name is Elijah."

Snape only nodded as the pair moved toward the door, unwilling to open his mouth in fear of the many spiteful things swimming in his mind, should one tumble out. He observed them, Elijah whispering in her ear before they reached the door, leaving Snape to roll over the reasons for Elijah's willingness to cast her pointed looks. Hermione was whispering back to him now, clouding Snape again with suspicion, no matter how hard he tried to smother it. Quite unexpectedly, Elijah looked back toward the cupboard, and Snape quickly tried to wipe away any emotion that may have shown on his face. Smiling, Elijah mumbled something to Hermione before casting another look toward the cupboard and leaving at last. Snape exited the store closet just as Hermione turned from the door.

"You two get on well," he said evenly as he started the task of placing cauldrons on the long worktable.

"He's a friend," Hermione replied with a smile, picking up a cauldron from the stack. "We chat now and again. I tried to avoid having to explain, but that was useless."

Muddled, jealous, and scolding himself for it, he set the cauldron down as he asked, "What precisely required explaining?"

"Being cuddled up to you in a closet," she replied coolly as she placed hers next to his.

Snape stopped to face her, feeling foolish and thinking that that should have been his first thought--instead of the numerous, less rational others.

"He's a friend of Weasley's," Snape stated.

"No," she said with a weary laugh. "Ron gets a bit…uncomfortable around Elijah. It's silly really."

"Because he's a lawyer?" Snape asked, puzzled.

"No," she giggled. "Because he's gay."

"Ah," Snape replied, smiling as he did so, feeling all the more foolish.

She giggled again, "You didn't know?"

"I had my suspicions," he lied, hoping he could gracefully move away from the topic. That was officially the first time he had ever felt jealous of a gay man, at least to the best of his knowledge. "It's getting dark, we should begin."

"Let me go get us something from the tea room," she suggested. "The lounge coffee is even worse than the stuff from there today."

"Of course," he replied. "I'll set up while you're gone."

She smiled before starting toward the door and Snape was beginning to feel confident that she was oblivious to his idiocy, until she halted at the doorway.

"There's no need to be jealous of the man who works the counter in the tea room either," she said, a dreadfully sarcastic smile on her lips. "He's gay too." After her statement, she left, though Snape could hear her giggle echo in the hall.

The blasted woman could already read him like one of her countless books, he though as he stared at the door. Moreover, she had allowed him to amble down the path of self-incrimination even further before deriding him. Thinking that she was more tuned to him than he thought, he grinned as he renewed the task of filling the table with cauldrons.

Brewing the elixir would be simple, but brewing the correct concentration would be trickier. The best way to ensure that they achieved the correct dosage, keeping in mind that the potion took a full day to stew, would be to prepare as many variations as possible. This would save a lot of time, though it would probably decimate an entire plant.

Exhausting the hospital's supply of cauldrons, Snape sat the last one on the table, which happened to be number thirteen. Considering this good luck, he filled them with water and started the fires, having lit the last one when Hermione returned.

"You've been busy," she observed upon entering. "Have we started a Fecund distillery?"

"I thought we should save time in lieu of waste," he replied.

"Good," she said, smiling back. "I'll just sell the rest and buy a house in the country."

"It's not as lucrative as one might think," Snape advised.

She giggled as she reached the table, her expression suddenly nervous, "I realized on my way back that you probably found it odd that I was hiding behind you. Honestly, I just didn't want to have to tell Elijah that I broke up with Ron and was already involved with you. Please don't think that I don't want to be seen with you. That was the last thing on…"

Employing the hand-over-mouth technique, Snape interrupted. "I noticed no such thing." He felt the need to explain his actions as well, and he loathed being at a loss for words, but every time he broached this subject he found himself there despite every effort. "If I am a bit…out of practice with the social graces…please forgive me."

As he removed his hand, shock flashed on her face for only an instant before she smiled. "Are we going to stand here or brew this damn potion? I'm starving."

Snape chuckled and imparted the ease of the potion. The work went quickly since it was necessary only to add the leaves and let it reduce unattended. Within half an hour, all thirteen cauldrons were simmering with their own version of the potion. All that remained now was to wait, a full twenty-four hours standing between them and any assurance of success.

Hermione excused herself when Snape began to collect his papers, leaving him alone and wondering mordantly if she were going to abandon him now that it seemed they were nearly finished with their work. He dismissed the paranoid thought and scolded himself for being so juvenile while he finished binding the sheaves of parchment. When she returned a few minutes later, she invited Snape to her apartment for dinner, noting that she had already placed the order to pick up along the way. Snape agreed, a dizzying hunger making him queasy after too much coffee and nothing to eat all day.

The hospital was nearly empty, but the street was busy with muggles and wizards alike, all out to enjoy the unseasonably warm Saturday evening. Stopping at a restaurant near her building, Hermione told him to wait outside while she ran in.

She came back with a box, saying, "I considered Vietnamese, but in the end I settled for pizza. Everyone likes pizza."

Snape laughed, "In the state I'm in, I'd have considered Vietnamese edible. Though, pepperoni pizza sounds much better."

"Good nose," she giggled.

"Look at me," he replied wryly, pointing to his face. "Do I have a choice?"

The rest of the walk took far too long, the scent of the food dreadfully distracting. As soon as they entered, she sat the box on the coffee table and mentioned something about plates as Snape opened the box and began to devour a slice.

"It's not going to run away if you don't finish it all at once," she giggled, handing him a plate.

He finished the current mouthful, "We're going to have to do something about your ability to repeat prior conversations verbatim."

Laughing, she cast a fire in the hearth before joining him on the couch. As they dined in silence, both leaving little time between bites for conversation, he thought that this was his favorite evening with her so far. There he was--having a normal meal with a woman, with whom he appeared to be--as she had put it--involved. It seemed an entire lifetime had passed since anything of the like had transpired. Perhaps because of his voracious hunger, he finished first, opting to recline into the couch and let his head lull onto the sofa with the drunkenness produced by the long-awaited meal.

It wasn't long before she too finished, clearing the near-empty box and plates and returning with two mugs. He took one and found the mug pleasantly cold. A quick sniff told him it was bourbon, and it was ice cold.

"I stuck the bottle in the fridge last night," she said softly, sitting on the far end of the sofa. "You like it this way, don't you?"

"Yes," he replied, reminded suddenly of how long it had been since he had taken a drink and wondering sluggishly why she was so far away.

He sipped gingerly, the velvet heat stinging like it hadn't in years. Letting his head rest yet again on the sofa, he turned to view her, an amber glow to her skin in the low light. She had let her hair down, the shoulder length curls becoming unruly, giving her a recently bedded look. Snape grinned before downing the contents of the mug.

The mood and his full belly were making his eyes unreasonably heavy. He closed them for an instant, only to be startled when he opened them. Hermione had somehow moved from the end of the sofa to his side in a split second.

"You fell asleep," she accused with a smirk.

"I only shut my eyes," he replied, keenly aware that her hand was running through the hair on his chest.

"For twenty minutes?" she giggled.

"That explains a lot," he grinned after glancing down to see his robe and shirt open to his waist. "Were you preparing to take advantage of me?"

"I was only taking advantage of the opportunity," she replied, her voice sultry and a bit naughty. Her hand began a slow descent as she asked, "Do you mind?"

He was suddenly short of breath, her hand reaching his waist, stationing itself at his crotch that she had already stirred quite effectively. He growled before he could reply, "Yes, very much."

Eyes never wavering from his, a scandalous smirk on her face as she caressed, she asked, "And what do you plan to do about it?"

Quickly and quite capably, she was obscuring his mind with profuse pleasures, chasing away every suggestive answer he may have otherwise managed to utter. Unwilling to stop her, he instead located the edge of her skirt and pulled it from between her knees. Trailing his knuckles up her thigh, he was astonished to discover that she had brazenly anticipated the maneuver. There was nothing to stop him when he arrived at the top of her legs, only a sensual open invitation. No sooner than his hand made contact, she leapt from the sofa.

"Take off your pants," she commanded earnestly, her celestial form backlit by the fire.

Riveted, he raised a questioning eyebrow that no doubt complimented his immodest grin. This only seemed to motivate her, manifest by her deepened grin.

She repeated more forcefully, "I _said_ take off your _pants_."

Her dominion boundlessly erotic, he slipped his arms from his shirt and kicked off his shoes before abiding by her mandate and tossing the useless fabric behind the sofa.

Removing his watch, the last article still covering any part of him, he asked, "Does this suffice?"

Nodding slowly, she eyed his body with a flush of victory while she stood still fully clothed to the naked eye. He watched her eyes flick to his thighs that were flexing involuntarily in hope of her soon sitting astride them.

Taking her wand from her pocket, she pointed it toward the door and Snape heard the squelch as the door sealed.

"Feeling non-verbal?" he purred, his heart pounding in expectation.

Her wand clattered to the floor as she advanced on him, her searing eyes fixed upon his. Snape marveled at her, a steel hold on his limbs to keep from ravaging her when she lifted her skirt, sliding her knees onto the couch bestride him. Her mahogany eyes were lustful, bombarding him with a want he thought he could taste and certainly planned to savor. He found himself panting for air as she pressed against him, the buttons of her robe chill against his bare chest, her lips against his ear where he could appreciate her own labored breaths.

"What have you done to me?" she whispered, his chest heaving as her breath stroked his skin.

"I'm prim and proper," she breathed. "A perfect lady, and still I want to mesmerize you, but I don't know how."

In between sobs, he managed, "You're…doing well…"

He heard the leer in her next breathy words. "Would you like me as your courtesan, for your bidding, your whim? Or are you mine for my fantasy, should I fancy playing the harlot?"

Now excruciatingly motivated, he scarcely voiced, "Yours."

He shut his eyes tight and bit his bottom lip, a tactic he had never had to employ _before_ sex. Then again, a woman overwhelming him was a new experience. In his condition, he wasn't aware of her next advance until he felt her hand on his shaft, directing him as her indisputable perfection began its measured descent. He focused on the unthinkable sensations as she took all of him, a momentous frenzy shouting in his brain as he released a low growl into her shoulder.

"Do you want me?" she gasped.

"Oh…god yes."

"Do you need me?" she murmured.

His hands clutched the sides of her face, pulling her nose to nose.

"I need you," he ground out, his words inferring far more than the mere physical.

She smiled and bucked her hips and all was lost. In a furor of pulsing lips, ripped buttons, and fumbled clasps, she was uncovered from the waist up. Absolute rapture coursing through his body, he located a breast with his mouth and worked his hands beneath the copious folds of her skirt to cup her delectable bottom as she rocked against him, one of her hands on his chest inducing perfect pain from his bruise.

He couldn't resist leaning back to observe her, head thrown back and eyes shut as she writhed against him. The melodious moans she gifted him with triggered an abandoned joy previously unknown to him. His eyes followed a trickle of sweat as it glided between her breasts and he claimed it with his tongue, launching a search for her mouth that eventually welcomed him with a whimper.

When he felt her tighten, she pulled her lips away, her resounding groan his cue. Moving one hand to her hip and the other to the front, he turned circles on the nub guaranteed to make her cry louder. To his fulfillment, she did just that while forcing her hips fiercely against his and he too could delay no longer.

His climax was absurdly generous while he embraced her, pressing his face to her cleavage, aware only of her--the salty-sweet sweat, her milky white skin, and all the while her whispered words resonating in his mind as she quivered against him. They came as one and he believed them one, no finite lines defining her from him as she invoked the names of more than one god. As soon as she hushed and positively spent, he collapsed with her atop of him against the backrest.

"I need you too," she sighed into his neck.

He freed what felt like a thousand breaths as he added those to the words he intended to cherish. Holding her as they calmed, immersed in the muggy, post-coital air, he tried to remember a time that he sought anything near as worthwhile as she was, but he failed. He tried to envision going on with life alone now that he knew her like this, and again he failed. Clinging to her still trembling body, he was grateful for this brand of failure.


	12. Chapter 12

a/n - Oh my…the holidays are such a treat. Is "treat" Icelandic for "pain in the…ah well, I seem to be wandering off point. Somehow, I've managed to complete this chapter and deviate from the original outline entirely. This one has officially taken on a life of its own. I'm as interested to see where it's going as you are, assuming of course that you're interested. :) There is definitely one more chapter, maybe another if the epilogue won't fit. Then again, who knows. I'm done speculating. Anyway, thank you all for the reviews again! Unbelievable as always! I'll leave you to the next chapter of this saga. Feel free to guess who voiced the line--you'll know what I mean later. NO PEEKING! Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

>

Chapter 12

A new specter haunting her sleep, Hermione awoke in the early morning hours having truly fallen asleep on Snape's shoulder this time. She removed his arms gingerly and got a blanket to cover him before attending to a pressing need for the bathroom. Not feeling near tired enough to return to sleep, she slipped on a t-shirt and prepared the ever imperative morning coffee. She took a cup and snuggled into her favorite spot on the sofa, happy to steal some time to think.

The previous evening's exploits flashed brightly in her mind as she watched over Snape in his slumber, his face shuddering now and again as he waded through the web of some unknown vision. Mercifully one less troubling than her own, she hoped.

Last evening when she attempted to start conversation, he failed to answer and she knew right away that he was asleep. She was about to wake him until her mind teemed with all the _ways_ to go about doing so. Still mildly shocked by her own behavior, she knew it was something about him that permitted her to ignore her inhibitions. He made her feel _allowed_, for a surprising lack of a better word. Words, she thought cynically, could cause more trouble than not sometimes. For instance, when she expressed her need for him, the word 'need' had started its journey as 'love'. Revising at the last second, she used his word not wanting to throw such a loaded term as 'love' at a man who seemed to choose his words so meticulously. Although, when he said 'need' it definitely sounded a hell of a lot like 'love' to her.

Nonetheless, if all went well he would be leaving soon and that was weighing heavily upon her. There was supposed to be plenty of time to figure everything out, but if the potion restored Harry's health Snape would surely be going home. Her subconscious wasn't helping matters either, showing her a vision that left much to the imagination. In the dream, Snape had gone missing and she sought urgently for him, but found his apartment empty and cast in a sinister darkness, one word traced in the condensation on the massive windows and backlit by the amber streetlights.

"NO"

Unsettling as it was, she ignored any underlying meaning while her mind twisted with questions. Should she ask him to stay for a while? Should she go with him? Should she allow some distance? Everything was happening so fast from every viewpoint, leaving little leeway for decision-making. This situation was no different from anything else in her life. She wanted to know everything about it and she didn't enjoy batting around all of the at the moment unanswerable questions.

Asking him to stay was a dilemma of its own. Snape hadn't exaggerated the reaction of the public after his release. She could clearly remember the stark contrast of attitudes in the community. Either people were glad to see him free, or they were outraged because of it. For the first month, one could hear the same conversation in almost every wizarding pub--and the dark corners of many a muggle tavern. Did Severus Snape deserve to be free, they all asked. Unfortunately, the facts that most people were familiar with were sketchy at best and had gone the rounds enough times that they were skewed one way or another. Yet over the last couple of months, the talk had diminished. Proof positive was the reaction of the hospital staff. Most were more than pleased to meet Snape, even if he didn't care to meet them. Hermione tried to convince herself that the community at large had moved on as well.

Realizing her thoughts were digressing, she took a sip of now cold coffee and checked the clock. Somehow, she had wiled away two hours lost in meditation meaning that the sun was surely up. Wishing she had windows in her living room, she decided to shower and dress, choosing a crimson sweater and her favorite pair of jeans since she wouldn't be on the clock at the hospital. After pulling back her hair with a few clips, she made a beeline for a fresh cup of coffee. As she poured, Snape stirred and turned a squinted eye in her direction.

"Good morning," she giggled, filling the other mug she had set aside for him.

"Morning?" he groaned, sinking down and out of sight onto the sofa.

Laughing, she carried the cups to the coffee table and found a corner of cushion he hadn't yet splayed across.

"You're chipper," she teased.

His eyes shut tight he grumbled, "I can't believe I spent the night sitting up, though I can by the pain in my neck." Stretching languidly, one eye opened half way. "You look excellent," he said slowly.

"Thank you," she replied with a grin. "It's my day off so I don't have to wear that ridiculous uniform."

"But I so like the uniform," he almost pouted as the other eye finally joined the other. "But only when you're wearing half of it, the bottom half if I recall." A grin spread across his face as he sat up, groaning as he did so. "It seems my back has made my neck feel better by comparison."

"A hot shower will do you wonders," she coaxed.

He grinned as he stood, wrapping the blanket around his waist, "So does sleeping horizontal to the floor."

She smirked before tugging playfully at the blanket, surprised when it fell into her lap leaving him quite exposed. Expecting him to keep a tighter hold, the flush was undeniable as it rose in her cheeks.

"Sorry," she offered as she tried to sustain eye contact.

"No matter," he said, obviously amused as he took the cup she had brought for him. "I don't know why I bothered." He laughed quietly and kissed the top of her head before heading toward the bathroom tranquilly sipping his coffee.

Her mind remained engaged with his stately physique until he disappeared, plunging her back into the previous ruminations. She tried to pass the time by reading, but the book failed to hold her attention. Instead, she ended up leaning on the kitchen counter in front of the open book, staring at the last dregs at the bottom of her umpteenth cup. Having no plans for the day, she thought that perhaps an early lunch and a quick trip to Diagon Alley would allow time for her to ask him what his intentions were. Although, she knew it had less to do with time and more to do with working up the nerve to ask, besides the fact that going to Diagon Alley could be a problem all its own. She was so preoccupied with the brownish cloud and her thoughts that she didn't know Snape had returned until his voice broke her concentration.

"I believe I am finally on par to kiss you."

The smile at his voice was inescapable. "You did kiss me," she replied to the book.

"Not like this," he answered, putting his hands on her hips.

The touch prompted impulse, her body circling to him eagerly. He caught her lips the moment she turned, his skin still humid from the shower. She recognized right away that this kiss was different. He slid his hands under her sweater and trailed his fingertips across the small of her back while he tenderly perused her lips. The sweetness of the kiss was startling enough that she was focusing far too much on why. Although he had never been particularly rough, this time he was markedly gentle and it unnerved her with all the questions already swirling in her mind.

He pulled away, smiling before stepping to the coffee pot, leaving her there to catch her breath and take in his choice of clothing. While quite pleasing, a black knit sweater and slightly faded jeans added to the growing mountain of questions.

"Where did you get those clothes?" she asked, realizing immediately it sounded like an accusation.

He raised both eyebrows before answering, "It's an incredible thing called transfiguration." His brows returned to normal as he grinned, "Incidentally, I owe you several towels."

She laughed, "I'll pick up some while we're out."

"Out where?" he asked.

"I thought we could spend the day in London before we head off to the hospital," she stated rather than suggested.

It was impossible to miss the sarcasm as he said, "I have seen London before. Has it changed radically while I was away?"

"No," she giggled. "But we do need to eat and London still has a few restaurants we both may be willing to dine in."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he teased from behind hooded eyes, apparently mulling over the idea. Finally, he nodded, "We may as well. What part of town do you recommend?"

She smiled, "Wouldn't you like to know."

Confident why she wasn't telling him and still confident that everything would be fine, the plan that was merely abstract earlier was now complete. She would take him to Diagon Alley to prove that people had moved on from the Voldemort mess and at the same time showing him that there would be nothing to lose by returning to London, which was in her best interest. It was a simple plan and she knew from experience that those were always the ones to go wrong, but she had a limited amount of time and worrying was getting her nowhere.

He agreed when she suggested they walk and after allowing him a few minute to finish another cup they left. Their walk went uninterrupted until they were nearly to The Leaky Cauldron.

"Exactly where are we going?" he inquired.

"There are a few books I need to pick up," she answered simply. "It'll only take a moment."

He stopped walking quite abruptly. "Forgive me, but I don't think I should join you."

She had anticipated as much. "Don't be silly."

"I'm not…the last time I was there…" he replied lowly, an edge to his voice as he failed to finish the sentence.

She sighed before trying again, "Look, no one will even recognize you. I wouldn't if I didn't already know you so well."

Her cajoling seemed to do the trick. His expression relaxed, he nodded and let her take his arm before they entered the pub.

The Leaky Cauldron was deceptively empty, giving Hermione a false confidence about the state of Diagon Alley. When the archway opened there were hordes of people clamoring down the street. Crossing her fingers, she stepped determinedly onto the street arm and arm with Snape, hopeful that the crowd had the sense to recognize the truth or the sense enough to keep their notions to themselves.

To avoid becoming a liar, she led them first to Flourish and Blotts, where she had to inspect the merchandise for books she actually wanted and didn't already own. Snape stayed close by, commenting tersely on a few of her selections but otherwise remaining oddly silent.

"Isn't there anything you want?" she asked after nearly twenty minutes while they looked at some used books in the back.

"To leave," he answered promptly, his eyes confirming that he wasn't joking.

"All right," she answered, unsure why he seemed so uncomfortable.

When she put down the book however, she noticed the faces peering around the bookcases and over the stacks whispering to their companions. Her heart sank at the thought of those people staring them down the entire time they were in the store. She looked to Snape who only shrugged as he continued to avoid the stares, probably trying to prevent a confrontation. Having seen enough, Hermione turned to address the onlookers.

"Hello there," she called to them, anger rising rapidly into her stomach. "I don't see a piano or a curtain and we're most certainly not standing on a stage so if you're waiting for us to start dancing or singing, you're out of luck." Looking back to Snape, she added, "I think you're right. We should leave."

Putting down the volumes she had planned to buy, she took his arm and headed through the stacks hiding the unwavering voyeurs. A very long few seconds later and they were standing in front of the store.

"Why didn't you say anything to me?" she asked him before she felt the tap on her shoulder. She turned toward the interruption, which happened to be an older woman wearing an obscenely large maroon hat with a very realistic bat at the very top. "Yes?" Hermione asked the woman snappishly, wishing to return her focus to Snape.

"Do you know who this man is?" the woman asked in a haughty, shrill tone.

"Yes," Hermione answered, immediately suspicious of the woman's point.

The old woman snorted before saying, "Then you of all people should know what he did and here you are gallivanting around with him. You should be ashamed of yourself!"

The anger was returning in infuriated waves. "Who are you to judge either on of us?" Hermione exclaimed. "Were you in residence under your rock when he was pardoned?"

"That was a travesty of justice if you ask me," the woman scowled. "The man who killed Albus Dumbledore…off scot-free. Severus Snape is a murderer any way you look at it and he deserves the same end as the rest of the lot…"

Hermione chose that moment to interrupt, "Well I didn't ask and you obviously have no idea what you're babbling about."

"Young lady, you will not speak to me that way." Much to Hermione's pleasure, the old lady seemed to be offended.

After a mirthless laugh Hermione replied, "I will speak to you however I wish, especially if you plan to attack this man. You owe him your gratitude…"

The old woman snorted again, "I owe my thanks to Harry Potter."

"_Harry Potter_," Hermione emphasized, "would be dead if not for _this man_, as would I, as would an army of people. Harry Potter may have killed Voldemort, but he would have never been able to without Albus Dumbledore _and_ Severus Snape. That is what the history books should say but until people like you get a clue they never will." When Hermione finished, she realized she was breathing heavily, the anger progressing to unwilling pity for the old woman gaping at her. "If you'll excuse us," Hermione said softly, "I think we'd both like to leave."

She turned to leave but stopped short, confined and bewildered by the crowd of people that had gathered.

"Do any of you have anything to say?" she asked sharply, heartened by the back step the crowd took in response. "Good. Now please get the hell out of the way."

The crowd parted as instructed and Hermione took the journey fuming with indignation. They passed through the archway and the pub before she had calmed enough to talk or even look at Snape who had remained extraordinarily silent.

Back on the muggle street, she asked, "Can you believe those people?"

"Yes," he replied softly. "They have every right."

Stunned yet again, she looked up into his resigned face. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No," he answered with a sigh. "Nothing will change their opinion and likely nothing should."

"You _have_ lost your mind then," she stated in exasperation.

"To them I will always be Albus' murderer, just as Harry will always be their savior," he affirmed in near whisper. "You know more than they what I'm guilty of, so you should recognize why I tolerate it."

"Tolerate it? You ran away from it," she asserted. "You didn't even try to defend yourself back there." The reason occurred to her, clear as a cloudless sky. "You think you deserve it," she declared. The sudden shift of his eyes to the concrete confirmed it.

In a low voice he said, "I don't want to have this discussion here."

"No problem. I don't like to yell in public," she replied.

He met her eyes then and she knew she'd crossed a line, but she wasn't going to stand aside while he deprecated himself into a mental institution. Taking hold of his arm, she Apparated them both directly into her apartment. It wasn't a method used often, but it was essential this time.

"Why are you upset with me?" he inquired as soon as they appeared in her bedroom. In her hurry, she had over shot the living room by a bit.

"Because you're being an idiot," she avowed.

His expression rapidly became aggravated, his brow furrowed and his eyes piercing.

Before he could react, she elaborated, "Because you're allowing those people's ignorance to personify your own self-loathing. That's the idiotic part." Her voice was growing louder as she spoke and she was afraid she was nearing another impassioned lecture so she paused to think.

"That's why you're yelling?" he asked quietly.

"Yes!" She paced to the bed and sat but stood up quickly.

Unable to settle her nerves, she continued the path into the living room. She turned to pace back but Snape had followed and she nearly walked straight into him. Taking a deep breath, she tried to launch into the speech she was trying to avoid, but he interrupted. He was clearly angry and she was worried she had again pushed too far.

"I robbed people of their lives Hermione, plain and simple. Don't challenge me for grieving that."

"You can grieve it all you like," she stated, "but don't seek out validation of your…remorse. Everyone's done things they aren't proud of and everyone has to choose between wallowing and bettering themselves. You made mistakes--perhaps the most awful mistakes--but you did what you could to make up for them and in my estimation you have."

He gave a skeptical chuckle, "On what do you base that estimation?"

"You saved the world…isn't that good enough?" She took a shaky breath. "If it isn't then nothing ever will be."

After heaving a great sigh he asked, "Why is this so important to you?"

"Because you're important to me," she answered readily. "I'm sorry I dragged you to Diagon Alley, but I needed to know..."

He interrupted again, "To those people I am a memory of a horrible time that they would rather forget. I'd rather forget myself, but I have to live with what I've done." He raised a steady hand to her cheek. "I am so very glad you think enough of me to take offence, but please understand why I don't. Furthermore, I didn't run away. I got on with what was left of my life. Surely you can understand that."

"Yes but…?" she protested but he stroked her cheek and she couldn't help but fall silent.

Before the conversation could continue, a loud knock at the door rudely disrupted it.

Snape chuckled, "That boy needs a hobby."

"I'll get rid of him," she said, more than irritated.

Smirking, Snape moved toward the sofa while she went to see what Ron wanted this time, except that it was her turn to be surprised.

"Elijah?" she said upon opening the door to see the harassed looking face of her friend.

"May I come in?" he asked hurriedly.

"Of course."

Elijah moved past her quickly, the door barely shut when he said, "We don't have much time. Miriam Windbag…I mean Windom, has become aware of Severus' work at the hospital and she's furious. She's petitioning for your immediate dismissal."

"What?" Hermione asked, only vaguely recognizing the name.

Elijah sighed before answering, "It seems that after your little chat in front of the bookstore she made a few inquiries at the hospital. James Flannigan was more than willing to spill his smarmy guts to the old windbag."

"What does this have to do with Hermione?" asked Snape, rattling Hermione who was unaware that he had joined them.

After a labored roll of the eyes, Elijah explained, "Miriam Windom sits on the hospital board and she contributes a fair amount of money as well. Whatever she says usually goes. More importantly, she has a pair of curse breakers trying to get into the potions lab as we speak. She's convinced herself you're up to something illegal."

Swimming under the news, Hermione asked, "Does this woman wear a big, gaudy hat with a bat on it?"

"That's her," Elijah replied. "She summoned me to ask about the legality of firing you under the circumstances. I've stalled her because she doesn't have a leg to stand on as long as whatever you two are making in that lab isn't illegal."

Nearly hyperventilating, Hermione found she was unable to comment. Luckily, Snape stepped in.

"Did you say something about curse breakers?" Snape asked.

Elijah laughed softly, "Yes. Thalonius Cleary tipped me off when I got to the hospital and I had just enough time to ward the doors before the old harpy showed up. Am I now an accessory to anything?"

"Yes," Snape answered. "It's Fecund."

"Oh dear," Elijah sighed. "It is for a medicinal purpose, right?"

"It's for Harry," Snape replied evenly. "And if they tamper with the elixir it'll be useless."

Astounded that they could both be so damn calm, Hermione tried to tell them as much but her voice came out in a pinched hum.

"Hermione," Snape said when he looked down, taking hold of her shoulders. "You need to calm down."

She gave a sarcastic nod, not needing him to state the obvious.

He laughed softly, stepping forward and pulling her against his chest. The rumble of his voice diverted her attention. "We will stun them or distract them with an aria if we have to, but they will not destroy our work."

The embrace serving to settle her, Hermione asked, "But what if that woman has you arrested?"

Snape's laugh worked to calm her further as he said, "I didn't escape from prison. They released me fair and square."

She laughed, "I meant because of the Fecund."

"I know," he replied. "Now, shall we go?"

"Yes," she replied before looking to Elijah.

"I'll do what I can," he said.

Hermione was glad to know Elijah was on their side. Snape pulled her tighter for the Apparition and she tried to prepare for whatever might await them. It was suddenly clear to her that it didn't matter if she still had a job. She could find another one of those readily enough. Above all, Hermione was afraid of the assault she was liable to commit against that crone in the preposterous hat if she tried to send Snape back to jail.

>

The thankfully quick trip landed them right outside the entrance of the hospital. It was dangerous taking them directly there, but they didn't have time for covert operations.

Snape strode purposefully through the barrier behind Hermione and Elijah followed them both. More than one person stopped to stare at their procession as they climbed to the fourth floor. Snape struggled not to chuckle as they traversed the halls, thinking that he had known the second he stepped into Diagon Alley that this would be a trying day, and that he should have expected it to get worse.

As they turned down the appropriate corridor, Snape did chuckle at the gaggle of people assembled outside the door to the laboratory, that ridiculous hat hovering above the lot.

"Well, if it isn't the happy couple," the trill voice of Miriam Windom cut through the din like shards of glass as she pushed her way to the edge of the throng. "Have you come to meet your fate head-on, Miss Granger?"

"No," Hermione answered. "We've come to stop you."

The old woman smiled coldly as she said, "Unlock these doors girl before your career comes to a screeching halt."

Laughing, Hermione replied, "I can't. I didn't set the wards. And I quit, by the way, so you can take that threat off the table."

Shocked, Snape said, "Hermione don't."

"She'll sack me anyway," Hermione stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, what good would it do to kiss her moldy backside?"

Snape stifled the laugh, "None I suspect." He turned his attention to the now livid woman in the flapping hat. "Those men may as well stop. Those wards are not coming down until the potions mature, which will be in roughly six hours."

"You most certainly will not tell me what to do," Mrs. Windom commanded roughly.

"Would you rather be held responsible for the death of Harry Potter?" Snape asked.

"Are you threatening his life?" she screeched.

"No, you are," Snape replied in frustration. "One of those potions may well help him, but we won't know until they mature which is why the damn door is locked."

Just then, Elijah stepped forward. "Mrs. Windom, perhaps you should speak with Harry before taking any further action."

"But the boy can hardly speak," she scoffed.

"Yes," Hermione exclaimed, "and it's a shame he never learned to write you bloody inconsiderate…" Snape's hand cut short her rant.

He chuckled at the surprised look on her face as he lowered his hand and bent slightly to speak quickly close to her ear, "Perhaps we should refrain from insulting her intelligence, moral aptitude, appearance, or any fashion of her backside until this is over."

Hermione smiled at him before saying, "But I could have a field day with that hat."

"As could we all," Snape replied before shifting his attention back to the fuming old woman. "Do what you must, but I will not allow anyone to jeopardize Harry's life and I assure you, no one is getting through those doors just yet."

Snape drew his wand and pointed it at the doors. Nearly every person in the corridor flinched as two fluffy armchairs materialized along side the double doors of the potions lab.

"You'll know where to find us," Snape told Elijah who nodded his understanding.

"Mrs. Windom," Elijah said, "I'm sure Harry would be more than happy to tell you his thoughts on the matter."

"I don't see what difference it will make," Mrs. Windom replied. "Clearly they're hiding something. Can't I have them arrested?"

"This is a publicly funded facility and they are well within the bounds of the law. They have expressed no knowledge of who locked the doors so we are just going to have to wait." Elijah offered his arm to the old woman before adding, "You should pass some of that time talking to Harry."

"Fine," Mrs. Windom conceded as she took his arm. "But this isn't over." She waved a wrinkled hand at the curse breakers as she said, "Thank you for coming boys. Your services have been disappointing to say the least. You may leave for now. Everyone else, come with me."

Snape was pleased to hitch up the reliable sneer as the group filed down the hall in her wake. The curse breakers trailed behind and Snape was sure he heard the world hag mumbled more than once as they walked by.

Looking to Hermione, Snape found her staring blankly at the recently conjured chairs.

"You'll get your job back," Snape assured.

"I don't care about the job," she sighed. "I never really wanted to be a healer anyway."

"Then what's troubling you?" he asked.

"If I could have kept my mouth shut none of this would be happening." Shaking her head, she strode to one of the armchairs and sank into it.

Snape took the other as he said, "Nor if I had stopped you, which I am more than capable of doing."

Smiling suddenly, she turned an interested eye upon him. "Why didn't you stop me?"

Snape laughed, thinking he should have chosen another comparison. "I'll admit I felt a hint of pride hearing you…defend me so vehemently."

She was still gazing with rapt focus, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally asking, "Do you want to be with me?"

He chuckled lightly, caught off guard by the blunt question. "If you've been conscious the last few days you should already know the answer to that."

"Humor me," she said with a tentative smile. "This could be over soon and…I want to know…I need to know why."

Aware that he always had trouble saying such things and wondering why she chose now to discuss the issue, he checked the hall for eavesdroppers before locking onto her eyes. If he was going to go to the trouble of saying it aloud, he was going to know her reaction.

After a deep breath, he said, "If I'd…" It was starting already, the confounding trouble stringing words together, afraid of revealing too much. "…If I'd known…" He blamed it on all the years as a spy, but he had dealt with it long before then. It was nearly painful, though not nearly as painful as listening to his own stammering. "You were…" Increasingly annoyed with himself, he elected to spit it out as fast as possible on the next try without thinking about it first. "As you were kind enough to point out, I can be an idiot at times but I would have to go completely mad to walk away from you. You're everything I wish I were and incredibly more than I'll ever be worthy of but I'm yours to be had as long as you'll have me."

Mildly astounded he survived the effusion and mildly disgusted with himself for exploiting her trust with Legilimency, he dreaded her unaffected response. Having pushed very delicately into her mind, he could only ready the most powerful of emotions. The unquestionable emotion he encountered was tremendous and wholly implausible, so much so that when she kissed him he forgot he was in a public hallway where anyone could walk by. He returned the kiss enthusiastically as though life itself depended on it, and something told him that in a way it did. Transported by his discovery, he would have chosen to lose himself in that moment if not for the untimely--though not altogether unexpected--intrusion.

"Severus? What are you doing to that poor girl?"


	13. Chapter 13

a/n - At last, this chapter is done and the story continues. Sorry about the long wait but I wanted to get everything in. This is NOT the last chapter. There will be at least one more installment and with Christmas fast approaching, it will be at least two weeks. Thank you all so much for the reviews and for sticking with the story thus far. There are over eighty people who have this story on story alert and I can't thank you enough. I hope you enjoy this episode!

Chapter 13

Kindled by Severus' revealing answer, the kiss was flawless and nothing could have spoiled it. That was until Hermione heard the voice of Remus Lupin.

"Severus? What are you doing to that poor girl?"

In the split second before opening her eyes, memory served to make her uneasy enough. Remus never went anywhere anymore without Tonks and they were probably with Mrs. Weasley. That only left the various others who often joined Mrs. Weasley on her weekly visits to the hospital, all of whom Hermione would prefer not witness her pawing Snape like a well-paid prostitute.

Startled, they pulled away from each other and Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes, heartened by what she saw over Snape's shoulder as he turned toward the new arrival. Standing mercifully alone was Remus, a cherubic grin on his face.

"My god Hermione, it is you!" Remus exclaimed in awe. "I heard a rumor, but I thought surely not. I didn't think old Severus had it in him."

"To what, attract a woman half my age?" Snape asked coolly.

"To attract a woman at all," Remus chuckled. "You were alone so long I assumed you must be a confirmed bachelor."

"We can't all be as lucky as you," Snape replied. "Sorry to have missed the wedding, by the way. Was it a moonlit ceremony?"

"No, actually it was quite beautiful," said Remus casually. "Something you would know nothing about."

"I think you're right." Snape sounded almost affable before adding, "Although, it's possible we merely have differing definitions of the word. Mine does _not_ include wolfsbane or the color pink."

Just then, Tonks came tottering around the corner, her budding belly visible before the rest, her hair a chilly shade of purple.

"I was close," Snape murmured.

"Molly sent me to see it you'd found Hermi…" Tonks paused as she reached Remus, her eyes widening when she glanced down the narrow hall and gasped, "_Snape_…you _are_ here!"

"Unless I'm a figment of your imagination."

Reminiscent of a gossiping teenager, Remus said, "You wouldn't believe it. I just caught them in quite the passionate embrace."

"So he's…" Tonks began with a giggle before Snape interrupted.

"God forbid someone have a private life that they actually manage to keep private lest you presume they're…"

As though on cue, Mrs. Weasley came charging around the corner trailed by a determined looking Mr. Weasley.

"Severus!" Mrs. Weasley cried out, rushing to him and throwing her arms around his neck. "It's so good to see you!"

Hermione fought not to giggle when Snape recoiled, thwarted by his seated position.

"Yes…" he muttered. "Just wonderful…"

As soon as she released him, Mr. Weasley grabbed Snape's hand and shook it liberally. "You should have let me know you were back. You could have come for dinner."

"He still can," corrected Mrs. Weasley.

"Of course he can," Mr. Weasley stated happily, finally letting go of Snape's hand.

"No he can't," Snape mumbled just as Mrs. Weasley engulfed Hermione in a hug.

"Oh Hermione," Mrs. Weasley cooed. "Ron told us what happened and we are _so_ sorry."

"Oh yes," added Mr. Weasley when Hermione became free of Mrs. Weasley's clutches. "It's bad enough as it is, but now Ron has some silly notion that there's something between you and Severus."

He and Mrs. Weasley giggled at the idea, looking from Hermione to Snape as though waiting for one of them to verify that it was just that, a silly notion.

Hermione laughed wearily herself before declaring, "Ron's right."

Both of the Weasleys expressions fell promptly and Mr. Weasley brow became deeply wrinkled. Remus' cheerful comment broke the awkward silence that followed as he stepped into the circle, clapping Snape on the shoulder.

"Yes, it looks like our little Hermione has taken a shine to old Severus here."

Snape brushed away the hand as he said, "Could you not refer to Hermione in that way. It makes her sound like an infant."

"She is young enough to be your daughter," Remus advised in a sugary tone.

Snape snorted before saying, "I suppose _Nymphadora_ is only young enough to be your niece."

"She's a few years older than Hermione," Remus replied.

Snape countered quickly, "Considering the years that curse has taken off your life, I'd expect we're even."

"I'm sure prison did little for your life expectancy," Remus offered nonchalantly. "I can already see it did nothing for your frigid disposition."

"Better frigid than a werewolf," Snape taunted.

"At least _Nymphadora_ didn't have to thaw me out on our wedding night."

"Let me get this straight," Mr. Weasley suddenly cut in. "You left Ron for Severus?"

"No," Hermione answered, wanting desperately to go home and forget that they ever left the apartment that morning. "I didn't plan for this to happen, it just did and there's no reason to split hairs over the timeline. And in all honesty, it's nobody's business."

"But does _he_ plan to marry you?" Mrs. Weasley asked tersely, waving a trembling finger at Snape.

"Yes, does he?" Snape mocked.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Hermione countered, disbelieving of the subject matter and wondering if her mother had been communicating secretly with Ron's mother about her state of unmarried-ness.

Eyeing Hermione appraisingly, Mrs. Weasley said, "You need to think about your future."

"Then I'll hurry up and marry myself off and transfigure myself into a brood mare," Hermione scoffed, adding at the last moment, "No offence Tonks."

"None taken," Tonks replied cheerily.

"That's not what I meant," Mrs. Weasley said quickly. "But someday you'll want a family and you definitely won't find that with Severus Snape."

"I'm right here Molly," Snape said sarcastically.

Hermione had again had enough. "Who told you that _that_ is what I want? Let's get something clear, I love you and Mr. Weasley very much, but if I never have little babies for you to coddle, it will not be the end of the world. However, if I do go off and do whatever the hell you and every other female member of my immediate family seems to want, then it will be the end of _my_ world. I make my own decisions. Is that clear enough?"

"You tell her!" Tonks exclaimed.

Though the impassioned speeches were taking a lot out of her, Hermione did smile inwardly at Tonks' support.

"We just want what's best for you," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, the hurt in her eyes sparking a pang of guilt through Hermione's steely temper.

Hermione sighed, "I know and I appreciate it, but whether I'm involved with Severus or the Loch Ness Monster, it's none of your concern and I'm not answering another question about it today."

"Ron loves you Hermione," Mrs. Weasley stated adamantly. "You should give this more thought before abandoning him completely. If you don't, you'll regret it later, mark my words."

"Now Molly," Remus said soothingly. "This is between Ron and Hermio…"

"She's being tricked somehow," Mrs. Weasley interjected. "Hermione, I don't know what he's told you, but Severus Snape has never loved anything in his entire life."

Contemplating the repercussions of stunning the woman, Hermione replied, "I don't have to defend this to you."

"_Enough_," Snape said rather loudly, his tone frighteningly severe. He was staring at Mrs. Weasley and seemed none too happy about it. When he broke the hush, his voice was much quieter but no less harsh. "Molly, you haven't known me near long enough to suppose who or what I've loved. You should also know that I've only listened to this gibberish because I didn't want to offend you. Nevertheless, the longer I listen, the less inclined I am to care."

Though Mrs. Weasley's steadfast expression didn't change, a single tear slid down her cheek before she bolted down the corridor and out of sight.

Mr. Weasley shook his head as he said, "I'm sorry Hermione. She's disappointed is all…she had expectations. I am sorry…both of you." He gave a small nod before following after his wife.

A few seconds of stunned silence passed before Tonks stepped up next to Remus. "Thank god that's over. I knew Molly was upset, but bloody hell. That wasn't necessary."

"Right you are," Remus replied. "Hopefully that Windom woman's finished with Harry. If we run into any more old acquaintances, Molly might end up hurting someone…hopefully that Windom woman."

Hermione permitted a laugh through her newfound melancholy. Who would have thought this day would be so damn complicated?

"It is good to see you Snape," Tonks said. "And buck up, Hermione. Imagine what I have to listen to being married to a werewolf and carrying his child. If I hear one more crack about a fuzzy infant..."

Hermione nodded, her exhaustion intensifying after the most recent verbal assault.

"Well, we've caused enough of a scene for one day." Remus put his arm around Tonks as he added, "Shall we go see to Molly?"

"Oh no," Tonks objected. "She'll start on me next. Let's see if we can't get lost."

"Good idea," Remus replied. "Good day Hermione…Severus."

"Remus," Snape said, pairing the sentiment with a semi-friendly nod.

Remus and Tonks disappeared around the corner, leaving Snape and Hermione at last alone.

"Do you think it was something I said?" Snape asked quietly.

Hermione smiled halfheartedly, "I should have anticipated that."

Snape chuckled, "How could you, unaware as you were of Molly's mental instability."

After so many rows in a row, as it were, Hermione was ready for the day to end. Actually, the prospect of somewhere completely uninhabited by humans--preferably featuring a fully stocked bar--was beginning to look quite tempting.

"Is this over yet?" she asked, as rhetorical as the question was.

Snape smiled before saying, "If it's any consolation, there are only five hours and forty minutes to wait before we'll likely be carted off to jail."

"Not anymore," said Elijah as he entered the corridor. "Mrs. Windom has chosen to postpone her objections. She is prepared to drop the issue if the potion proves legitimate."

Though Elijah looked happy, Hermione still sensed something in his voice.

"And if it doesn't?" she asked.

"_Then_ you'll be carted of to jail," Elijah answered simply.

Of course, Hermione thought, rubbing her face with her hands and yielding briefly to the disillusionment of the day.

"I don't see what you're moping about," Snape said casually. "Should we fail, we'll have plenty of time to flee the country."

Laughing despite herself, she peered up at the dingy ceiling, thinking absently that someone really should clean the stupid thing since it would be so simple. Then again, she wouldn't have those pretty cobwebs to stare at to take her mind off everything, including the dizziness that was creeping upon her. It seemed the longer she stared, the harder it was becoming to breath and the more woozy she was beginning to feel. Suddenly, Snape placed a hand on her shoulder.

"You know, we don't have to sit here all afternoon anymore."

"I suppose you're right," she answered softly before taking a few deep breaths to settle her stomach that was growing displeased about something.

Snape was watching her carefully, "Hermione?"

"I really don't feel very well," she replied hurriedly, afraid drawing out the words would emphasize the nausea. "Will you please take me home?"

"Of course," Snape said, taking her arm and helping her to her feet. "Excuse us, Elijah."

"Sure," she heard Elijah say as Snape ushered her away.

Uncertain why she felt so terrible, she could only try to keep up with Snape's swift steps and try not to feel like an inconvenience. She simply wanted to go home and go to sleep. Snape guided her without question through the halls and down the stairs to the street where they Apparated to her apartment. She mumbled a thank you before heading straight for the bedroom, crawling beneath the covers and closing her eyes, willing herself not to throw up, especially not in front of him.

>

Snape stood in the doorway, anxious as he watched her slide into bed, her face ashen and eyes shut tight against the world. It was disturbing to see her so weak. Whatever was affecting her must be awful if it forced her into bed so it was a simple decision to conjure a chair and watch over her just in case she needed him.

The hours passed slowly while she slept, Snape hopeful the nap would do away with whatever it was. Molly hadn't helped matters by acting the role of meddling mother. Hermione had more than enough to see to without Molly's nosing. After a few hours split between reading and staring, Snape chose to move to the living room, not wanting her to wake and find him watching her as though she might burst into flame at any moment. He would be able to hear her if she called for him anyhow.

Having chosen an extremely boring book about arthropods, he dozed off himself for a while, but woke shortly before five, leaving an hour until the elixir would be ready. Keenly aware that they hadn't eaten, he checked the refrigerator only to discover that what food she had closely resembled small, furry animals or gelatinous pools of foul smelling substances that he assumed used to be food. With a quick wand wave, the fridge was clean. Assuming the cabinets would yield little more than the fridge, he conjured a sandwich for himself and a warm bowl of broth for the patient and set them up at the coffee table before going to wake her.

"Hermione?" he said as he shook her gently.

Her face had regained much of its color but she still appeared weak. She rolled onto her back as her eyes fluttered open. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked.

"A long time," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," she answered as she slowly sat up. "I don't know what that was all about."

"It's quite simple. Molly made you physically ill."

She laughed softly. As she stretched, she must have seen the clock. "Is that the time?"

"No," Snape replied nonchalantly, glad to have her conscious again. "I changed all the clocks while you slept."

Laughing, she said, "It's good to have a hobby."

"Do you need anything?" he asked. "Some water, perhaps?"

"No," she sighed, swinging her legs off the bed. "I'll get it my…oh, I shouldn't have moved so fast." Her face quickly paled and she was taking measured breaths when she asked, "What is wrong with me?"

"You're the healer," he teased gently.

"Oh ha-ha," she replied slowly. "I'm serious."

"You haven't eaten," he told her. "You must realize that can make you weak, which will no doubt make you nauseous. Once you get something on your stomach, you'll be fine."

She rose cautiously, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders as she led the way to the living room. They settled onto the sofa and Snape was just taking a bite of his sandwich when he noticed her watching him.

"Why can't I have a sandwich?" she asked.

"Because you're sick," he explained. "And sip that slowly, no inhaling."

She smirked, "Yes Doctor Snape."

"I'm sure I'm tame compared to you," he teased. "Heaven forbid I should get sick, you'd be lording over me with an iron fist and a buggy whip."

"I would not," she replied before taking a small sip of soup. "I'd use a riding crop."

The remainder of the very late lunch went by rapidly and as soon as Hermione finished eating, she made a quick trip to the bathroom and returned looking refreshed. Since she appeared well, Snape withheld his protests about her return to the hospital although he did insist that they Apparate to spare her the walk.

The hospital was quite empty, making the presence of the flapping bat hat ever more noticeable as they reached the fourth floor. Miriam Windom was standing with Elijah and James Flannigan outside the door to Harry's room.

"Come to see if we succeed?" Hermione asked, though they didn't stop for a response.

Snape steered her past, nodding to Elijah and sneering quickly at the Flannigan idiot. Elijah followed, clearly aware that he would have to remove the wards.

When they arrived at the lab, an azure glow surrounded the door before they swung open. "There," Elijah said. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Snape replied before he and Hermione entered.

The thirteen cauldrons were still simmering, but they were now brimming with the orange elixir and the room reeked of sulfur.

Coughing, Hermione said, "We should have cracked a window." After a few more coughs, her face lost all its color before she bolted toward the door and mumbled, "Be right back."

Understanding how the smell could turn a sound stomach, Snape chose to leave her be for the time and opened every window before beginning the task of preparing doses. If his calculations were correct, a small amount of elixir at the correct concentration would prove itself almost immediately, but the effects would only last a short time. They would use full doses as a last resort, Snape decided, filling a tray with small cups labeled from one to thirteen. He was nearly finished measuring the doses when Hermione returned, looking the epitome of green about the gills.

"That was unpleasant," she said softly as she crossed room.

Snape was immediately alarmed, "You're shivering." He placed the back of his hand to her forehead. "You aren't feverish, but you should go home."

"Absolutely not," she protested. "I've come this far and it's not like I have to do anything."

"What if you're contagious?" he asked, hoping to persuade her with concern for Harry.

"You just said I don't have a fever," she replied. "And I don't kiss Harry on the mouth, if that's what you're worried about."

Chuckling, Snape knew it was useless to argue if she was determined. He finished filling the cups and noticed Hermione cringe as the elixir gurgled into the cups. Snape batted away her hands when she attempted to pick up the tray and he carried it carefully through the hall to Harry's room.

"Unless you want to smell of burnt matches, I'd suggest you move," Snape advised Mrs. Windom who had positioned herself right in front of the door.

"You can ask politely," she hissed.

"Pardon me," Snape said as he felt the familiar sneer curl his lips. "Get out of the way."

He heard her muttered outrage and Hermione's giggle as he entered the room where he had to steady the tray upon seeing Arthur, Molly, Ron, and Ginny Weasley, along with Tonks and Lupin all huddled around the bed. Every head turning his direction, he saw Harry's smiling face among them.

"Mr. Potter," Snape said, "I see we've interrupted the meeting of your fan club. I'm afraid you'll have to postpone."

"He's right," Hermione added. "You can all wait outside or in the lobby if you'd like, but we'll need to observe his reactions unhindered."

With surprisingly little protest, they all began saying their goodbyes and filing from the room. Ginny and Tonks left first, both stopping to have a few words with Hermione while Snape went to set the tray on the bedside table now that he had the room to walk. When he checked on Hermione, she was still in conversation and he though he understood her sidelong glance.

"Hermione," he said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but could I have a word?"

"Sure," she said quickly, adding something to the girls before crossing the room. "Thank you," she whispered when she reached him, although Snape thought she should have waited to express any gratitude as Molly had finished her fawning and was on her way toward them.

"Hermione dear," Molly began, clutching her handbag nervously in front of her. "I must apologize for my behavior. Though I may not _approve_, it isn't my place to judge so I am sorry."

"Thank you," Hermione replied.

Molly sighed deeply, "You look peaky. Take care of yourself. You're still family, you know, so you still have to visit."

"I know," Hermione replied.

Looking to Snape, Molly nodded, "Severus."

Snape waited for her to say anything else before returning the nod. "Molly." At his words, she hurried away and Snape allowed a chuckle. "I think I'm no longer invited to dinner."

At long last, the room was clear and Harry was smiling expectantly. Hermione was sitting on the foot of his bed, looking no worse and no better. Snape felt compelled to hurry.

"You should feel a difference right away. If not, we'll move on to the next," Snape explained as he handed Harry the first dose.

He took the cup and drank it all at once, sitting very still as though closely evaluating every sensation. After nearly a minute, he shook his head no. Moving on to the next and the next, the tension escalated as Snape considered the possibility that none of them would work. Around cup number six, Hermione moved to the chair by the window and Snape couldn't tell whether her illness or the looming failure provoked her new expression of discomfort.

One by one, Harry emptied the cups. A few times, he looked as though he were about to speak, but only gave the same disappointed shake of the head. A few times, he paused for several minutes, but the same disappointment settled yet again. Half an hour passed and twelve empty cups sat on the tray. Snape handed Harry number thirteen and for a moment appreciated the irony that number fourteen would have been the correct strength.

Harry emptied the cup and sat completely still. Hermione was poised on the edge of the chair, watching him intently. Snape merely waited for the inevitable shake of the head. Just as before, Harry shook his head, a pained look of frustration on his face. Snape had enough time to look around for something to kick.

"That one didn't seem to work either."

That was Harry's voice, scratchy and weak, but it was his voice. Snape looked up at the grinning face of the boy who had apparently escaped death yet again.

"You are a bastard," Snape said slowly, unable to repress a smile. The boy would live.

"No," Harry laughed. "I'm an orphan. That's different."

Snape chuckled and looked to Hermione, the sight of her making him laugh ever more. She hadn't moved from the chair, though she was clutching the arms and gaping at Harry. Swinging his legs cautiously from the bed, Harry stood looking like a child just discovering he possessed the ability. Hermione rose and caught him in a tearful hug, many mumbled thanks audible between the two.

Harry pulled away as he said, "We have to tell everyone. They aren't going to believe this!"

When Harry rounded the bed, Snape spotted the boy's state of undress and thought it wise to stop Harry before he reached the door. "Mr. Potter, you still need to take a full dose of number thirteen and put on some pants."

It was then that Harry looked down at his t-shirt and boxer short. "Pants…right."

While Harry rummaged though the storage chest at the foot of the bed, Hermione hit Snape round the middle and began rambling unintelligibly into his sweater. She drew away almost as swiftly.

"I'll get the full dose," she said, excitement dancing in her eyes. "Eight ounces?"

Snape nodded, unable to say anything before she veritably skipped from the room. When he turned back, Harry was standing before him, thankfully wearing trousers this time.

"I can't thank you," Harry said. "There isn't anything to say that could tell you what this means to me."

"There's no need Mr. Potter," Snape replied, truly uncomfortable. "Seeing her happy is enough." His jaw clenched as he winced inwardly. He hadn't meant to say that part aloud.

Harry was grinning again, "She's not just happy because of me."

Snape merely nodded, finding the conversation strange to say the least. Luckily it didn't go any further because Hermione came barreling in with a glass full of number thirteen. Harry took it and drained the glass, cringing as he did so.

"I'm still not used that," he said, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"I'd imagine you'll need to stay here overnight," Snape told him, "but if all is well you may leave in the morning. You'll need to take that once a month and I'm sure Hermione or I will prepare it for you."

Harry nodded. After hugging Hermione again, Harry disappeared into the hall and the enthusiastic cheers of those gathered surely traveled to the street outside.

"You did it," Hermione said, pulling Snape from where his mind was just beginning to wander.

"We did," Snape amended as he took her in his arms, careful not to jostle her. "Actually, Jonas did. We merely figured it out."

"You figured it out," she said. "Without you…"

Recognition was unnecessary from her. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

"A bit," she answered. "I'd like to stay and spend some time with Harry, maybe wait until everyone else has gone."

His mind was going back to the thought she had interrupted. "If you're sure you feel up it," he replied and she quickly nodded. "In that case, I think I'll return home for a bit. I'd like to speak with Jonas…tell him what his miracle plant has been up to."

Her expression was unreadable as she asked, "How long do you plan to stay?"

Snape grinned, "A few hours and then I'll return to look in on my new patient. Perhaps I'll bring you a light dinner."

Smiling she replied, "That sounds good."

This was the moment he'd been dreading, if even unconsciously. This moment signaled their return to their previous lives, the fight for Harry's life fought and won.

"I guess there's no time like the present," he said, trying fruitlessly to mask his reluctance to leave.

"I guess not," she said. "Be careful."

"I'll not splinch myself, I promise." He smirked, "And if you start feeling worse, you will go home."

"I promise," she answered.

He kissed her gently before pulling her into a warm embrace. Holding onto her was so much better than walking away could have ever been. She squeezed him back and he thought about staying but he knew that she needed the time with Harry. There would be plenty of time later.

When they reached the lobby, Snape asked her to rescue his plants and they said a few more heartfelt goodbyes before he crossed through the barrier onto the street. He had a busy evening ahead of him. He'd have to collect his things from the hostel and stop somewhere along the way to pick up an expensive bottle of cognac for Jonas. At some point, he'd need to settle a few things. He didn't want to make this trip regularly and he didn't want her to have to either. If she wasn't interested in healing, then there was every chance that she might come to Mandeville. He's also need to figure out another way of making money. The solution to that was promising although he'd have to speak with Jonas about it first.

After checking out of the hostel, Snape steadied himself for the excruciatingly long Apparition and realized he'd have to make that horrible trip twice in one day. However, that didn't bother him as much as it should have, not after what he saw in her mind before Remus so rudely interrupted. Though Snape still felt the tiniest twinge of guilt for looking, it had been worth every second to witness her falling in love.


	14. Chapter 14

a/n - This story refuses to quit. The following chapter will be the conclusion and the epilogue. Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Happy New Year and Enjoy!

Chapter 14

Snape left and Hermione longed to go with him. Under other circumstances, she would have gladly participated in the group surrounding Harry, but she wasn't feeling up to it, her stomach still unsure whether it wanted to stay settled. The smell of the elixir had brought on the most unanticipated reaction, a weak stomach something she'd never dealt with before and she was afraid that a stuffy hospital room filled with too many people might set off a similar reaction.

When she again reached the fourth floor, she could tell from the voices that Harry still had plenty of company. Bypassing his room, she decided to pass the time with a nice, weak cup of tea. She was already standing at the service counter in the tearoom when a fresh bout of dizziness descended. Stumbling into a nearby chair, she waited grumpily for it to pass.

"Young lady, are you all right?" Rushing to Hermione's side, a gray-haired woman knelt beside the chair.

"I'm fine," Hermione replied tersely, recognizing the woman from the hospital and in no need of help.

"Like hell," the woman said. "You look terrible. When was the last time you had a physical?"

Though usually ready with answers to most questions, this one left Hermione stumped. She honestly couldn't remember, so she didn't answer at all.

"If you have to think that long about it, it's been too long. Come on," the woman directed, taking Hermione by the forearm and pulling her to her feet. "Tell me what the trouble is."

The dizziness nearly gone, Hermione wasn't about to be hustled into a needless physical. "Nothing, I'm just a bit stressed. It's over now."

"Like hell," the woman repeated, directing her into the hall and down the stairs with an unyielding grip. "You don't stumble like that from stress darling. You pull out your hair and bite your nails. Have been doing those things?"

"Well no," Hermione replied, planning to elaborate until the woman cut her off.

"Then there's another matter and you best not ignore it, whatever it is."

While being veritably dragged down another flight of stairs, Hermione raised another protest.

"Exactly where are you taking me?" she asked. "There's nothing wrong with me anyway. If you'll just let me go…"

"Nonsense," the woman replied. "I've got a little office on the third floor and it'll not hurt you to sit still while I run a couple of spells over you."

The woman swung open a set of double doors and thrust Hermione onto a rather comfortable, plush sofa. The woman's office consisted of the sofa, a desk, a few short bookcases and a wall of shelves stocked with a rainbow of shimmering, fizzing potion vials. She was rifling through the papers on her desk, clearly finding what she sought when she brandished her wand above her head like a sword.

As she paced back, the woman said, "I'm Melisinda, but everyone calls me Millie, when they aren't calling me crazy."

While the woman cackled at her own joke, Hermione considered that Snape wouldn't have allowed some lunatic to abduct her. Abduct was a strong word, seeing as Hermione was trying to be polite by going with the woman, but her patience was running thin.

"This is absurd," Hermione stated as she stood to her feet.

"Sit," Millie said, pushing Hermione back onto the sofa. "Now tell me what's been troubling you."

"I told you, nothing." Hermione tried to stand again. "I'm a healer too you know."

"Of course I know," Millie replied, nudging Hermione back down again. "You're Harry Potter's friend. Rumor has it you've taken up with that surly ex-professor of yours, but that's no business of mine. What I'm interested in is when you started getting faint. Was that the first time it's happened?"

"No," Hermione answered honestly, seeing nothing to lose by telling the woman. "It started this afternoon."

"I see," the woman began to pace, tapping the tip of her wand against her chin. "Are there any other symptoms?"

"I've been a bit sick to my stomach," Hermione reluctantly divulged.

"All right," Millie declared as she abruptly stopped pacing. "Let's get to it then."

Thinking the woman would explain the procedures before casting, the first spell caught Hermione unaware. The white aura surrounding her was so cold that it raised the gooseflesh and then turned suddenly very warm, soothing away the chill. Green and red followed the white, all passing through the same temperature phases. These were without question diagnostic spells.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked when the red turned a pale shade of yellow.

"Just running a few diagnostics," Millie replied casually. "These will tell me how everything's running on the inside."

"I know that," Hermione countered impatiently. "Why so many? I'm not dying…"

"To find out what's wrong with you, of course." The woman laughed softly as the yellow shifted to blue.

Once the heat stage of the blue faded, the cool of the white took over once again and then the light dissolved altogether.

"Well there she is!" Millie exclaimed. "That certainly explains it!"

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Oh," Millie's eyes became saucers. "Is she his--the tall fellow with the nasty temper?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione sighed, frustration tensing every muscle in her neck as she maintained a tenuous grip on her patience.

Her eyes still wide, Millie asked, "Don't tell me it didn't occur to you before now?"

Tenuous grip lost, Hermione asked hurriedly, "Would you just tell me what the hell you found?"

"You're pregnant dear," Millie stated as though it should have been common knowledge. "You have been for a little less than twenty four hours, as far as I can tell, but the spell isn't perfect. So…is she his?"

Every word that followed "pregnant" may as well have been a car horn sounding in the distance as much as they meant to Hermione.

"You've made a mistake," Hermione stated.

"No mistake," Millie replied rather smugly. "I might be off on the time by an hour or so, but the spell's never wrong about the main event. She's the one giving you fits. Such are the pleasures of a magical pregnancy, but don't worry. That'll pass in a few weeks and you won't know the difference. I've got something you can take until then."

Again, the words were meaningless drivel in a sea of misinformation. Absorbing the knowledge wasn't working, her brain apparently unable to cope, so she tried a verbal objection.

"That can't be…" Hermione said, her voice sounding pinched and very far away indeed.

"Well being magical has its advantages," Mille answered in a horrid singsong voice. "Granted, I don't get to see many women as early as you, most just check themselves. You should know as well as I do, the spell can tell from the moment of conception."

Hermione was shaking her head. That wasn't what she meant. With a shaky hand, she pulled her wand from her pocket to perform the spell herself. She thought the incantation, the one she had used once before on herself when she was late. It had set her mind at ease then. Now the blue light warmed her skin and the knowledge filled her mind. A girl, conceived late in the evening the previous night. Even now unable to process the information, she sat very still.

"I told you," Millie said. "Now this is completely confidential, so how about letting me in on the gossip…"

Hermione raised a hand, somewhat reminiscent of Snape, and the woman fell silent. A question had managed to find its way to the surface of her stunned mind and it was in need of answering right away. "I can still Apparate, right?"

"Of course you can," the woman answered.

Hermione took a deep breath, "Thank you for all your help. I have to leave now." She rose and headed for the door as the full measure of the news was struggling to penetrate her brain.

"Here," Millie thrust a small vial into Hermione's hand. "This'll help. Just take a sip now and again when you feel off. I'm sure your boyfriend can make more for you…"

"Thanks," Hermione replied absently, her eyes focused on the nearing door.

Somewhere in her mind, she had convinced herself that going through that door would restore the world to another state of being. Going through that door was going to set everything right again. If not, then Snape would be standing on the other side to tell her how preposterous the situation was. She swung the doors open with both hands and found herself terribly let down. She hadn't gone back in time, the vial was still in her hand, and Snape was nowhere in sight. It was then that she knew she'd been wrong earlier--this day _had_ somehow managed to get better and then promptly got worse.

> > > > > > > > > >

Walking into his apartment was like returning to a home long forgotten. Although the familiarity was comforting and the sun was shining brightly, the return was bitter sweet. The return reminded Snape profusely of how lonely he'd been for so long, how cold his first few months in Mandeville had been. All the nights spent brooding over what could never be, while unbeknownst to him there was hope in the form of a woman, one he could have never imagined existing, one capable of loving him. So far fetched was that notion that it still seemed surreal, especially standing back in his apartment, wondering for just a second if that had all actually taken place.

On his way home, he'd purchased the cognac and left it warm, knowing Jonas was an old-fashioned fellow. He'd also stopped at the local owl post and sent a note asking Jonas to visit and alluding to a matter of great importance. Snape knew the old man had a curiosity rivaling Hermione's and he would be hard pressed not to respond immediately.

Snape had just begun to unpack when the owl tapped lightly on one of the living room windows. All of his windows stationary, he had to go to the roof to retrieve the note, which was surely Jonas' reply.

_Severus,_

_I'll be there in twenty minutes._

_J. A._

Snape returned to his apartment and finished unpacking by hand. He was nervous again and wanted the work to keep his mind occupied. Almost twenty minutes to the second of receiving the message, there was a knock at the door. He had keyed the door for Jonas weeks before, though the man had never been to visit. As the door swung open, Snape looked up at the old man in his customary muggle attire. The red baseball cap and tattered flannel shirt gave no inkling of the powers the man possessed or of his knowledge. He appeared to be an elderly black muggle, but his amber eyes stood out against his dark skin and they saw straight though you, whether you were aware of it or not.

"This better be good," Jonas said, his distinct accent giving away his Creole ancestry. "I was in the middle of something."

"Sitting on the street chatting with tourists?" Snape asked.

Jonas smiled, "You read my mind."

Snape gestured to the sofa and poured the man a shot, which he took eagerly, commenting that someone as young as Snape shouldn't be so skilled at selecting liquor. Ignoring the man's comment, Snape delved right into the story of the preceding few days, leaving out certain details of course, but nonetheless including Hermione very earnestly in the tale.

Though he tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible, the few times Snape did look into the man's eyes, Jonas smirked and Snape knew he saw more, how much more a mystery. Occlumency was almost impossible against the man. An extremely powerful Legillimens, Jonas need only look into someone's eyes to know them and he was the only person Snape had known other than Dumbledore and Voldemort capable of true telepathy.

"So my Trilorian did something good?" Jonas asked nonchalantly after Snape finished recounting the tale.

"Yes," Snape chuckled at the man's casual disregard of the significance.

"Destiny was bound to do something good with it," Jonas said as he refilled his glass.

"Destiny?" Snape scoffed. "How do you come to that conclusion?"

Jonas only chuckled. "It's easy. We always get what we need."

Puzzled, Snape asked, "Are we still discussing the same thing?"

"Yeah," Jonas replied. "You end up in my shop, using my plants. My plants turn out to be the thing to help the boy. That young girl helps the boy by postponing her life and in doing that, she ends up with the power to set you free. By setting you free, you end up in my shop. Funny how those things happen."

"And that was all fated, was it?" Snape asked skeptically.

Jonas smiled and shook his head. "Or it was all chance, whatever you want to suppose. The fact is you're a hateful person, not that easy to get to know even with my advantages, but she saw through you from the start. I guess that was just luck, was it? Bumping into the one woman who could stand you for more than five minutes?"

"Necessity," Snape suggested. "She needed my experience with the most evil of wizards. She wasn't looking for anything else."

"Come on. You're smart, almost as smart as her," Jonas replied, staring at the floor. "I saw it in her eyes, same as yours, a loneliness that doesn't come from a lack of company."

Snape could only laugh. "You artfully shifted subjects, but I don't think we need to discuss her further."

"But this is all about her," Jonas said, turning his eyes up suddenly and catching Snape unprepared. "She's you're answer, isn't she? I don't see that loneliness anymore."

"There's no need to put it in the form of a question," Snape said, shifting his eyes to the windows. "You aren't playing psychic, but you do fill the role of peculiar old man quite expertly. The truth is that I've had something constructive to do, something worthwhile, maybe the most worthwhile thing I've ever done."

Jonas chuckled, "But she's the central piece of this puzzle. Without her, none of this would be, can't you see that? Not you or me, not that boy or his other friend, she was the answer and I think you're her reward."

"That's an odd way of putting it," Snape said quietly, maintaining his gaze away from Jonas. "You could say none of this would have happened without Voldemort. Is he Cupid now?"

"Go on believing what you want, but don't discount what is." Jonas stood and shuffled to the windows, placing himself in Snape's line of sight. "You like these windows because they never show you what was, or what could've been. They only show what is, concrete and beyond doubt. That's rare, especially in a person, but she has it. You looked--admit it. You saw for yourself, so why are you so afraid?"

The old man could be maddening at times when it took him forever to reach his point. "Is that it?" Snape asked. "You know I'm worried about asking her and you're rambling on about it. "

"Nah," Jonas smirked. "You're afraid to admit you love her. You've never said it out loud to anyone but your momma and it's time you changed that."

"Would you stay the hell out of my brain?" Snape asked, not partial to having his own thoughts retold to him.

"I got to be going anyway," Jonas said as he moved toward the door.

Unsure how the conversation sidled away from topic, Snape said, "Before you leave, I have a question for you."

"No problem," Jonas said without stopping. "You can test the Trilorian all you want. Maybe that's what fate was after all along, or maybe this whole world is a great big coincidence. Either way, there's your permission." Jonas stopped suddenly just short of the door. "You've got company, Severus. It's time to rise above those fears."

> > > > > > > > > >

Hermione would have stood outside Millie's door much longer if Millie hadn't followed. That motivated her to go upstairs to do the one thing Snape had asked, which was retrieve his plants. Her legs carried her somehow to the potions lab, brain still successfully dysfunctional. To busy herself, she cleaned the cauldrons and stacked them, returning the place to the order it normally maintained.

Once the lab was sufficiently clean, perhaps overly clean, her brain whirred back to life and panic replaced the numbness. This was wrong, all wrong, and nothing could rationalize it. She hadn't used the incantation because…well…she'd been distracted, but she thought Snape most certainly had. Obviously, he hadn't. How could they have been so careless? She couldn't blame it all on him since she was an adult as well and capable of using the contraceptive spell. Nevertheless, the duty fell to her to deal with the consequences, none of them fun and all of them particularly unwelcome.

Out of busy work and the will to put it off any longer, she grabbed the plants and headed down the hall, all thoughts of Harry erased from her worries. Unfortunately, leaving wasn't going to be that easy.

"Hermione!" Ron's voice called as she began to descend the stairs.

Bloody freaking hell, she thought, turning around and trying to look less than distraught. "Yes Ron?"

"It's really great what you did, for Harry I mean." Ron appeared nervous though Hermione wasn't in the mood to care.

"Yes, thank you." She tried to leave again, but Ron seized her arm and she nearly lost hold of the plants.

"Is Snape gone?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered hurriedly. "Well, no…he's coming back. Actually, I'm going there now…I'm in a hurry."

Ron was eyeing her curiously. "Is he forcing you to go?" he asked as though he had some sort of clue.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione searched her only recently restarted mind for something to say to end what was looking to be a tedious conversation. The answer was obvious.

"No," she replied. "I have to go there to tell him I'm carrying his child. Tell Harry I'll see him later."

Ron at once began to laugh. "All right, I get the hint. You don't have to be disgusting about it."

He shuffled back off to Harry's room and Hermione found herself standing stunned again. She even smiled and laughed a few times before the lump rose in her throat and the tears threatened to come. Swallowing the emotion, she again started down the stairs, her speed increasing as she went.

When she reached the lobby, nearly sprinting, Mrs. Windom and James Flannigan were standing near the nurse's station and regrettably, they spotted her.

"Miss Granger," the old hag called sweetly. "Could we speak with you?"

"No," Hermione called back, quickening her pace even more.

"It'll only take a second," Mrs. Windom added pleasantly.

"I don't care," Hermione replied. "Last I knew I didn't work for you anymore."

Mrs. Windom gave what she must have thought to be a merry giggle. "You aren't taking that whole mess seriously, are you?"

Hermione stopped just short of the barrier and turned back to them, needing to vent something on someone. "I quit. I still quit. Quit, quit, quit."

Surprised by how good that felt, Hermione turned on her heel and crossed through the barrier. The chill night air decimated that good feeling with harsh reality. The cold set off another dizzy spell and she had to search her pocket for the vial. The orange liquid tasted faintly sweet and it did just what Millie said, it took the edge off, though it didn't do away with the woozy feeling entirely.

Speed of the utmost importance, she Apparated home out of habit and after setting the plants gently on the coffee table, she collapsed onto the sofa. Pregnant, the word was spinning wildly in her mind and the thought of telling Snape was nothing short of terrifying. Needing to see him more than she needed to feel sorry for herself, Hermione chose to go resolutely into what fate had dealt. She closed her eyes and pictured the street on the lake, the one outside Snape's building and Apparated.

The trip felt longer this time, perhaps because she wanted to be there so badly or because she was dreading what she had to do when she arrived. Either way, when she appeared on the street she realized she had again reappeared in plain sight but thankfully, there were no witnesses to her arrival.

The sun was still out, whatever time it was a distant memory as she went through the door and up the stairs. The memory of first climbing those stairs was so fresh and yet so distant it was hard to believe she had been the one to take that journey, scared and curious all at the same time. She was scared and curious again, but for other reasons entirely. Too soon, she was standing at his door, number thirteen. Even more apt now, she thought, hesitating as long as possible before stepping into what she was sure would prove to be an unforgettable conversation.

Before she had time to knock, the door opened and Hermione remembered it did that. She took two steps into the room. The first person she saw, however, wasn't Snape, but the black man she'd met in New Orleans just a few days before. The man was smiling at her and she smiled back respectfully. Much like tumblers in a lock, the why fell into place.

"Jonas Anderson," she said, her smile becoming one of disbelief.

"Hermione Granger," he replied.

"I see introductions would be redundant." Snape's voice reached her before she saw him over Jonas' shoulder. He was smiling and she couldn't help but wonder for how long.

"I was just leaving," Jonas said as he walked toward the doorway.

"Before you go," Hermione said, "may I hug you?"

She heard Snape chuckle. "You ask him, do you?"

"It would be my pleasure," Jonas replied.

He wasn't much taller than she was, so a hug was simple and especially quick. Jonas stepped back and his stunning pale blown eyes locked onto hers just as his smile became an all-out grin. That part wouldn't have been disconcerting had his voice not suddenly sounded inside her head.

"Oh my, you certainly have some news for him."

Alarmed, she had no way to respond.

"I'll be leaving now Severus," Jonas said aloud this time. "You know, if I was a hundred years younger, I'd give you a run for your money." The man winked at her before walking past and shutting the door.

"What did he say to you?" Snape asked, shaking Hermione from the new shock.

"What do you mean?" she asked honestly.

"He said something, didn't he? He's fond of doing that," Snape answered as he walked toward her and took her in a hug.

His arms held her tightly and she was mildly surprised she'd survived all those minutes he'd been gone. She giggled at the irrationality before the tears started to well. She had to tell him, because only then would she be able to process the information logically, and there was no reason to prolong the torture.

"Did you miss me that badly?" he asked, pulling her away and smiling, though the smile faded as her tears intensified.

In the safety of his arms, it became acceptable to release the tension that had done nothing but strengthened from the moment she received the news. The tears were soothing as opposed to sad, taking with them the fear beleaguering her.

An expression of abject concern on his face, Snape asked, "You missed me _that_ badly?"

She tried to speak, but the sobs had stolen her voice, allowing her to do nothing except shake her head.

"Has something happened?" he asked, his grip on her shoulders tightening.

She cleared her throat, "No…nothing…well…yes."

"Then tell me," he begged.

Beating around the bush was senseless so she took a poignant breath as the words formed and by some means summoned the strength to speak them.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?"

Damn.


	15. Chapter 15

a/n - Well, here's the end. I wondered if we'd make it at times. :P I think everything is wrapped up. Let me know if I left a loose end somewhere, I'll probably reread it later and find a few frayed ends. I hope you enjoy it. It's been fun to write. I'm already working on a darker fic, but I don't plan to post any of it until it's finished. Well, thanks so much for reading this unbelievably long story and I hope you come back for the next! Bye!

Chapter 15

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" Hermione said, grimacing as soon as she spoke.

Her arrival had been pleasantly surprising in the least. Now, as her eyes shined with tears while she wiped away those already shed, her dodging of the question was more than troubling.

"Yes," Snape replied. "Although that obviously wasn't what you were about to say."

"Huh?" she asked, her forehead rising into an accordion-like row of wrinkles.

"Tell me," he said adamantly, keenly aware of his grip on her shoulders. "Whatever it is, just say it."

"Tell you what?"

Something horrible had happened and for whatever reason, she couldn't tell him. He had a choice between patience and stealth and as always, he chose stealth. She was already looking him as though she wanted to will him the information, so he went ahead and pushed on.

Much less structured than earlier, her mind felt twisted and tangled. Without the power of his wand, he would have to wait for her to reflect on the issue and he didn't have a long wait. Like canon fire, a sequence of events went flying by almost too rapidly to decipher.

Severus gone. Tea. An older woman. A spell. Pregnant. Severus. Forgot incantation. Is she his? Pregnant. Severus. Plants. Filthy cauldrons. Weasley. Snape. Carrying his child. Windom. Quit. Severus. Jonas. Severus.

Oh god, Snape thought as he dropped his arms, staggered by the rollercoaster that was Hermione's memory of the time since he left her. She'd certainly had a much more eventful time than he had. The nervous energy he'd suffered before Jonas arrived returned in full, as did a myriad of questions and notions and fears and the conflicting urges to blurt out what he'd seen and permit her to explain in her own time.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked sheepishly.

Snape promptly closed his mouth and blinked. His eyes burned since he hadn't done that for the last little while. Both ventures into her mind that day had offered things that he'd never expected to see--things that he wasn't sure just how to deal with, things that baffled him. The headache he'd managed to avoid upon returning home settled at last, a pulsing pain behind his right eye.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she repeated, a bit of fear creeping into her voice.

How he would have loved to answer that question, although the speech section of his brain must have been right next to that pulsing pain, or perhaps that pulsing pain was his brain gradually shutting down. Either way, he definitely did_ not_ know what to say even if he could have spoken.

"Are you having a stroke?" she asked in all sincerity, grabbing his arms and giving him a shake.

This evidently was what he needed. "I don't think so," he replied, closing each eye one at a time to make sure they were working correctly. Yes, they seemed to working, although that pain at the back his eye refused to quit.

"Then what's the matter?" she asked and Snape had to laugh at her capacity to ask that question of him under the circumstances.

Taking a deep breath, Snape restricted the laugh and asked his own question in slow, deliberate words. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

Her face became impassive again. "Yes?"

Was she afraid of his reaction or possibly his rejection as she wrung her hands and her jaw trembled? Was she afraid saying it aloud would make it true? Whatever was going through her mind, he knew the feeling, the want to say without the courage to do so. Seeing her wriggle like that was awful. He needed to put an end to her torment.

Pulling apart the white-knuckled ball she'd formed with her hands, he took one and led her to the sofa where she sat, every aspect of her appearing unsure.

"Do you need anything?" he asked gently.

"I…I don't think so?" she answered, achieving a poor imitation of a smile.

He took the seat beside her, perched on the edge of the cushion just as she was. Her hands promptly returned to the ball in her lap. It would have been so easy to tell her he knew, but something told him that she needed to say it. That was important and he would not take that away from her. He waited a minute, then two, hopeful that she would begin on her own. Her reticence didn't surprise him as his own brain was happily focusing on her quitting again and cleaning the lab instead of the enormous bit of news she was about to report. Ten minutes was long enough, he decided, taking the initiative to lead her on or calm her down in one way or another.

"What happened after I left?" he asked quietly.

"Well…I went for a tea." Her voice cracked as she spoke.

"Really," Snape replied, trying to think of the best way to goad her on. "Did you find out what's making you ill?" He had to fight back an anxious laugh.

"Yes, I had a physical." She was staring at her hands.

Perhaps this time, he wondered. "Everything else is well, I suppose?"

"Else?" she asked, looking somehow guilty.

He fought back the laugh again. "Besides whatever is making you ill, I mean."

"Of course," she said quickly. Clearing her throat, she added, "Don't be upset."

Nearly choking on that laugh, he said, "I promise I'll not be upset."

She took a deep breath and freed it ever so slowly, her eyes wide in what could only be dread.

He decided that desperate times called for desperate measures, so he asked, "Did Molly finally confess that I'm her illegitimate son?"

"No…" she said, eyeing him strangely, but looking up from her hands nonetheless.

"Then what is it?" Snape asked, trying urgently to retain composure. "Did Ron Weasley confess his love for Elijah? Did they elope?"

"No?" she said, a shy smile parting her lips.

"Miriam Windom is having James Flannigan's love child, isn't she?"

"No!" she said with a tentative giggle. "That's revolting."

"Then what could it possibly be?" he asked, willing her to spit it out.

"I'm…I'm pregnant!" she almost shouted.

There. She said it. Now he had every right in the world to panic and panic he did, however internally, while finally giving voice to one nervous laugh. He'd forgotten the incantation last night. He witnessed her thinking the same thing. He'd been…preoccupied. Not only that, but now he was quite sure he was a moron.

"Well?" she asked, hanging an unbelievable expectancy on that one word.

He nodded. That was all he could do. Nod. The pain still thumped behind his eye and it was apparently impeding his motor function.

Wide eyed, she asked, "Are you sure you aren't having a stroke?"

He nodded again and considered for a moment that perhaps he was having a stroke. This made him laugh again. Watching her face, he knew that was the wrong thing to do. She looked as though she wanted to kill him or perhaps give him a stroke, but she certainly looked like she didn't want to watch him titter like an idiot.

He cleared his throat for the words that would surely come. He waited for them. She stared at him. Finally, he opened his mouth and prayed something meeting her requirements would come out.

"You're…" He cleared his throat again. "You're…_pregnant_."

"Yes," she answered timidly, seeming unnerved by his return to the land of verbalization.

"Last night…I'm so sorry." That was it? That was all he could come up with to say? At least he was talking.

"I forgot too," she muttered. "I was…"

"Distracted?" he offered.

"Yeah," she answered, taking another slow, steady breath. "I understand if you're angry."

Her statement put a dent in his personal panic. "I am not angry," he affirmed. "Not in the least."

"I didn't mean for this…" She looked more panicked than he felt. "I'm not trying to trap you, if that's what you think."

Again, he had to laugh at the idea. "That is the farthest thing from my mind."

She shook her head, her eyes wildly scanning the room. "It was an…"

He raising a hand quickly and she stopped, sitting very still. Jonas' words had returned to him, loud and clear. He again pulled her hands from the interlaced ball and held them tightly as he said, "Don't say accident."

There were tears lining up in her eyes just waiting for the chance to spill over and those eyes were set upon him, unblinking.

He felt suddenly very nervous again--very, very nervous concerning what they were about to discuss. "Some people believe that there is no such thing as coincidence, no accidents." He paused to swallow absolutely nothing since his mouth had become completely devoid of liquid. "Perhaps this was supposed to happen. Who's to say, because I was…trying to decide how to… to persuade you to…" He was just going to cut out his tongue because he obviously didn't need it to speak!

"To what?"

"To live here," he blurted out somewhat forcefully. He ground his teeth in an effort to relax. "This changes everything."

"Changes what?" she asked, her eyebrows sliding gradually closer together.

Again, he prayed for the words to come. "You're going to have…_our child_." The phrase seemed so foreign. So did the emotions that were springing forth, claiming his chest, swirling in such frenzy that he couldn't tell whether it was happiness, terror, or that oft-mentioned stroke. "A week ago I was alone…so completely…what I wouldn't have given. And now…I'm going to be…a _father_?"

"I know," she said with a shake of the head. "I am too."

He laughed. He couldn't help it. Clearly, he wasn't the only one experiencing technical difficulties. "No," he finally managed. "You get to be the mother."

She appeared confused for a second, but quickly donned a smile that became quiet laugh. "Yes…_mother_…" She looked mildly nauseous.

Snape chuckled. "You know, Molly is going to think that we did this just to spite her."

A loud laugh left Hermione before she said, "Oh god, she's going to have a kitten."

Her words seemed oddly timed and he marveled at the memory they evoked. "I haven't heard that phrase since I blew up the front porch."

Her expression less tense considering, Hermione asked, "What did you blow up?"

Snape sighed, the memory returning in vivid detail. "The summer before my first year at Hogwarts, my grandmother was looking after me for my mother. She brought me a rudimentary potions kit. Smuggled it to me really, my father didn't allow such things. Anyway, I was playing with it on the front porch and after about fifteen minutes, I became bored with the instructions so I mixed… well… things the instructions specifically advised not to mix." Hermione was already grinning and it made him laugh. "Well, the next thing I knew, I was splayed in the front yard. When Grandmother came to see what all the ruckus was about, that was the first thing she said to me. Your mother is going to have a kitten."

A smirk on her lips, Hermione asked, "How much trouble did you get in?"

"None actually," he replied. "Grandmother cleaned me up and somehow repaired the porch. I'm still unsure how she managed that, but she never said a word about it to either of my parents." He paused to laugh. "Although, she did tell me that if I could cause such a spectacular explosion with those simple ingredients, that she couldn't imagine what I could do if I applied myself."

Hermione smiled. "She inspired you."

"Yes, but long before that," he answered. "She was a botanist like Jonas. She loved plants and all the things they were capable of, the powers they held in all their many forms. She taught me how to identify and care for them. It was her passion that made me first want to learn how to apply the science."

"She sounds like a wonderful woman," Hermione said sincerely.

"She was," Snape said, taking a deep breath as he appreciated the calm that had come over him as he reminisced. His grandmother passed away not long before his mother and he'd allowed those events to overshadow so much that somehow he'd forgotten how much he missed her. "She would have liked you."

Inclining her head on his shoulder, Hermione laughed and, to Snape's relief, it was nearly relaxed. "I'm sure she was proud of you."

Reluctant to break the mood, Snape said, "We seem to have moved off topic."

"We're talking about family," she replied softly. "That seems relevant at the moment."

"That it does," he said.

"Your grandmother, what was her name?" Hermione asked.

"Anastasia."

Hermione lifted her head and grinned. "Anastasia Prince?"

Laughing at the look on her face, he replied, "Princess Anastasia? Yes, that was her married name, purely coincidental. Although, she did call me her little prince." He paused as he shook his head and grinned, "I can't believe I just told you that."

Snape put his arm around her shoulders and reclined into the sofa and she fell back with him, laying her head on his chest. The peace that descended fell simultaneously with the first few drops that pelted the windowpane. It wasn't until then that he noticed the gray clouds blanketing the sky, soon dappled gold by a bolt of lightning. He muttered the spell and the room went dark, bathing them both in the silvery light from the great windows as the rain persisted, rising into a downpour that chased away what remained of Snape's earlier panic and replaced it with the beautiful hush that he could never quite resist. A peal of thunder sang in the distance, fading steadily into a velvet roll that surely rang for miles.

Hermione soft voice grasped his attention. "You should know…it's a girl."

He closed his eyes and grinned, knowing she could hear his heart as it leapt with her words, words he still wasn't quite sure what to do with. Quickly staring back at the windows, he let the hush fill his mind, confident that someday he'd get better at this.

Pressing his lips against the top of her head, he closed his eyes and just said it. "I love you."

The best part was, when she briefly stopped kissing him, she said it back.

> > > > > > > > > >

Long ago, Snape finished researching Jonas' Trilorian as it was now known, developing thirteen new medicinal potions in the process with the help of his wife. Fortunately, Jonas survived to see it, but passed on shortly after Snape published his findings nearly a decade ago. It was this work that motivated the board members at St. Mungo's to offer Snape a position heading their potion's department. After discussing it with Hermione, he accepted the offer on the condition that Miriam Windom kept a distance of at least one hundred yards at all times, and they agreed.

His desk was never as neat as he would have liked it, always piled up with new orders and requests faster than he had the inclination to arrange them. Snape was in his office now, the very lab where he'd kindled his romance with his wife and the last place he wanted to be on a Saturday.

"Sir, I'll stay and finish." His assistant, Markus Meriwether, was ambitious yet entirely incapable of working unsupervised.

"I have to take the elixir with me Markus or I would most certainly take you up on that offer." Snape rose from his desk to inspect the boy's progress. As soon as he reached the table, it was clear to Snape that he should have just done it himself. "That looks fantastic Markus, you may go."

"But sir isn't it supposed to be orange?" Markus asked.

It would never be orange with him tending the cauldron. "Yes, it's only a matter of time." Or intelligence, Snape added silently. "Go ahead and go. We'll discuss the finer points on Monday."

"If you're sure…" Markus replied.

Snape was sure he didn't want to make the boy cry…again. "I'm positive. Enjoy the weekend."

"Thank you sir," the boy called as he snatched his cloak from the closet and vanished out the door.

After sighing and shaking his head, wondering if there was any possible way to trade in an unpaid intern, Snape lowered the heat and added a dash of barberry paste. That should counteract whatever damage the boy had done.

Just then, a head poked around the corner, a curtain of black hair falling away from her face, her chocolate brown eyes larger than normal. It was his little Slytherin. "Don't be mad."

"What are you doing here? Where's you brother?" Snape stopped himself there so as not to sound too terribly much like his wife.

"He's downstairs. He's _fine_," she emphasized as she sidled into the room.

"Explain," he instructed lowly as she rounded the table.

Halting in front of him, looking as guilty as every fourteen-year-old does from time to time, she said, "Do you remember that potions set Uncle Harry got for him?"

Though he tried his best to retain the stern, fatherly expression, a strangled laugh escaped him. "Go on," he said before clearing his throat.

She sighed, "Well, he had it in the living room…"

There went that strangled laugh again.

"Dad, this isn't funny." In that moment, Annie bore a striking resemblance to her mother.

"What did he blow up?" Snape managed to ask, nearly shaking with anticipatory laughter.

She was watching him carefully as she said, "As I was saying, he had it in the living room, so I made him take it out on the porch…"

He couldn't restraint it any longer, almost doubling over in convulsions that he was sure must have thoroughly unnerved his daughter.

He calmed himself long enough to say, "So he destroyed the porch, but he was unharmed."

"Yes," she replied. "I only Flooed him here because he shot himself halfway across the yard."

That sealed it. Snape was now laughing so hard he had to put a hand to the table to prop himself up.

"Are you going to be all right?" she asked in a pitiless, dry tone. "Should I go get someone before you have a stroke?"

"Where's your mother?" he asked between fits, though the answer didn't help him curb the emotion.

"Standing in the doorway, wondering what's going on."

Snape looked up to see Hermione entering the room, looking to him for an answer. All he got out was, "Albus is downstairs. She says he's fine. He blew up the porch."

"What?" Hermione exclaimed as she reached them, a smirk turning her lips. "How?"

"His potions set," Snape barely said.

Hermione joined him in the peals of laughter and Annie looked between them both as though they were insane. "Is someone going to tell me what's so funny?" she asked.

After wiping away a few mirthful tears, Hermione answered, "Your father blew up a porch of his own once."

"Really?" Annie asked. "I never got to blow anything up."

"Neither did I," Hermione replied.

"Oh no," Snape said, unable to resist. "Your mother conserved her energies for such things as setting me on fire."

"I did not," Hermione giggled until her memory apparently placed the reference. "I guess I did…I forgot about that."

"You set Dad on fire?"

"A long time ago," Hermione said, still giggling.

"But why?" exclaimed Annie, adding verve to Snape's laughter.

"She thought I was trying to kill Uncle Harry," he answered.

"The thought seemed valid at the time," Hermione explained with a laugh.

Just then, a theatrical voice grabbed Snape's attention.

"Throttle me if you must, but it _was_ an accident."

Albus had entered the room and was standing at Snape's side, his mop of chestnut curls mussed and his eyebrows lightly singed.

"You've never once been throttled." Snape said, chuckling as he put his arm around his son and pulled him against his side. He couldn't believe that the boy would be at Hogwarts in less than a year. Ovid was right about time, Snape thought, because fly it certainly did.

"Oh, I will be after you see the house," Albus sighed, staring at the floor.

Suddenly, Annie asked, "Did you know Mom tried to kill Dad?"

Albus' head snapped up as Hermione interjected, "I did no such thing."

"No, that was in her third year," Snape said nonchalantly. "Of course, your Uncle Remus almost killed us all that night."

Both children appeared mesmerized by the impending story, but Hermione disappointed them. "Yes, we'll tell you all about that on the way to Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur's. If we don't get a move on, we're going to be late."

"Your mother's right," Snape said at the let down looks on their faces. "Annie, take your brother home and get ready to go. I still have to bottle a few things and then we'll meet you there."

"Fine," Annie sighed, taking her brothers hand and heading for the door. When they reached the doorway, she looked back and said, "But I want all the details this time. I'm missing the Halloween Feast for this, you know."

"You're missing the Halloween Feast for the party, Anastasia." Hermione corrected. "Now go." The two children turned the corner and Hermione turned to Snape sporting a grin. "You just had to bring that up, didn't you?"

"Yes," he smirked, slipping his arms round her waist. They'd been married for fifteen years that very day and he'd stopped arguing about spending their anniversary at the Weasley's ages ago. "Now, I've got Harry's ready, but I still need to bottle Molly's elixir."

"She needs more already?" Hermione asked. "I just saw her on Monday and she said her rheumatism was better?"

A few years ago, Hermione reopened her private practice out of an office on the third floor that sat vacant after an elderly witch retired. She had operated a similar practice in New Orleans before they relocated, but found that she was pregnant again almost immediately after they'd finished the move. They'd been distracted.

"Molly sent me an owl this morning," Snape replied. "She's overworking herself with the party."

"Uncle Ron…" Hermione shook her head and laughed. "_Ron_ and Lavender are supposed to be helping her."

"You know Molly," Snape said. "She's probably following behind them, redoing everything they've already done." He kissed her gently before returning his attention to the cauldron that was now a satisfying shade of orange. "I know I've said this before, but for two people who have no siblings, our children certainly have an abundance of Aunts and Uncles."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Hermione said softly and Snape nodded.

"Is Harry going to make it this time?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. "Elijah said he's been planning on it and he'd be the one to know. If Harry gets busy at the shop, we'll just have to Floo by and see him."

Again, Snape nodded. After meeting Jonas, Harry took an immense interest in the plant that saved his life as well as the work that Jonas undertook for the citizens of the city. Harry apprenticed and took over the shop when Jonas' health failed. Not surprisingly, when Snape and Hermione relocated, so did Harry, opening the shop in an available building next door to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

The elixir siphoned and bottled, Snape collected his things and extinguished the remaining fires as he made his way toward the door and his waiting wife.

"I can't wait to see Ginny," Hermione said as they entered the hallway. "She's been so busy traveling for the paper that I haven't seen her in months."

Snape warded the doors and smiled, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as he said, "Well…I can't wait to see the porch."


End file.
